


Waterloo

by killlanelle



Series: Fate's Gifts [1]
Category: Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)
Genre: Completed, Disaster Heist Wives, Estefania "Rizos"Kaliba, F/F, Fabio Leon - Freeform, Hate to Friends to Lovers, How their duo began, Macarena Ferreiro - Freeform, Macarena Ferreiro/Fabio Leon (Brief), My take on how Oasis began, Revolted that NO ONE is writing about this shit, Saray Vargas - Freeform, Slow Burn, Zulema Zahir - Freeform, Zurena, bank heist, part one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killlanelle/pseuds/killlanelle
Summary: Nine months after the prison riot, Macarena comes back to make an offer and Zulema finds herself unable to refuse.
Relationships: Zulema Zahir/Macarena Ferreiro
Series: Fate's Gifts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805968
Comments: 362
Kudos: 483





	1. The Start

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Vis a Vis, nor its characters, references were used, they belong to their respective owners.
> 
> I haven't finished the series, my knowledge stops at season two. I only know bits and pieces of how season four ended, but since this story will be Maca and Zulema focused, i don't believe it will be much of a problem.
> 
> I am absolutely revolted that no one is actually writing about these two.
> 
> No beta, English is not my first language, it's Portuguese, and this is my very first (published) work.
> 
> My take on how their partnership began, Macarena left prison nine months ago, Zulema stayed.

The storm outside was enough to be distracting, but not enough to be entertaining.

Zulema wished she had a window at eye level so she could look at the view. In her mind, she could envision it, the dark sky set off only by lightning, the way the droplets would look under the light of the lampposts, leaves in the wind.

Unfortunately, all she had was windows so high up, the only thing she could make out through them was rain spattered black.  
Zulema turned when a guard stood at her prison cell.

"You have a visitor," The guard, Gary, she found out, said, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked better now, better than he had a few weeks ago when she'd strangled him. He’s new, and he learned the hard way to not get too close.

Zulema glanced at him with an eyebrow raised. "I hadn't realized I was allowed visitors, let alone that someone would want to visit."

He grunted and went back out.

Curious, Zulema quickly marked her spot with a mental note of the page and paragraph and closed her book.

After Sandoval’s death, getting precious things such as books were getting harder, and after Macarena’s time in prison came to an end, they were her only company now.

They never hit it off, per see, but they always worked better together. Sometimes, when the books become a lousy company, she tries to picture a blonde head snoring softly bellow her bunk bed.

Stepping outside her prison cell, Gary leads her to the visitor’s room, walking a meter or two more distant than necessary, her warning very clear in his mind, she notices.

She sats herself in the farthest table she finds, waiting for her visitor to walk in. After a few minutes, she finds herself delighted when the sound of boots in the hallway outside the room answered the mystery: Macarena.

Whatever could have given her the motivation – and the ability – to make her way here? After their little incident a few months back, they suspended her right for any visitors.

When the woman in question came into view, Zulema gave her a smile and said, "Now this is quite the pleasant surprise. However did you manage your way in here? Fabio?"

Macarena grimaced. "He doesn't know I'm here."

When she didn't offer any more explanations, Zulema’s smile widened into a grin. "Well, I suppose a girl's got to have her secrets. I won't press. But you and I both are very aware that you wouldn't just drop by because you fancied a chat. There's a reason you're here."

They stared at each other with a peculiar tension filling the room. Zulema took the opportunity to study Macarena properly, from the chewed down nubs of her nails to the sheen of chapstick on her lips, from her worn down boots to brand new wool gloves, the amount of rain gathered on the lapels of her coat to the collar turned up against wind. Free life didn’t do her very well.

"I hadn't actually thought you'd take me up on my offer. True, it hasn't been a year exactly, but I understand if you missed me and wanted to visit, instead." Zulema continued, hoping it would elicit a response out of her, but to no avail.

The day Macarena was set to leave prison, Zulema had actually offered a way to keep contact. Letters. A plead of desperation, really. She had no more allies inside the prison, and felt the need to maintain the closest thing to one outside the prison. Macarena had only given her a look, before turning and leaving.

Macarena exhaled sharply and took a seat in the chair opposite from her.

Outside, a flash of lightning. The inevitable crash of thunder. Macarena did not stir. She had become, Zulema could see from her place on the table, complicated. Not complicated the way classic car’s were complicated, that could be taken apart and studied, but complicated in the sense that there was nothing to study at all. She simply was. You understood or you did not, and Zulema certainly planned on being in the former category. The Macarena she met all those years ago would tremble in horror seeing the woman sat in front of her.

“I need you.” Macarena admitted at last.

It was an effort not to let surprise show on her face. With calculated disaffect, Zulema answered, "Is that so? How could i help you?"

Again, silence. Macarena had more control than she let on, and Zulema found herself altering her question, "Why would i help you?"

A flash of anger crossed Macarena's features.

Ah.

She did not chose to be here.

The rain picked up, tapping against the cement roof in insistent drumming, and Zulema had to raise her voice to be heard.

“Time is ticking, rubia, do not waste my time here.”

“I need you for a heist.”

Macarena looked unamused, a line appearing between her eyebrows, and Zulema entertained, briefly, the image of both of them, dressed as 80’s cartoons bank robbers, pointing guns at the celling, screaming at managers, and causing chaos all around.

“A heist? Has not the righteous and just life treated you well?” She muttered dryly. She didn't like that idea, though it held some grain of temptation. She never handled temptations really well.

“My old life is ruined, my family is dead, mostly because of you, so i think you owe me this.”

"This being what? A heist? Consolation for the death of your little family? Life has always been hard, rubia, you just found out that the dark path is shorter.”

Macarena huffed and slammed her fist on the table. Glancing briefly at the guard before hissing. “You owe me for the fact that i have nobody else, now.” She spat. “Everyone i love now is dead, and the least you could do is help me on this.”

A smile appeared on Zulema's face, it was a simple turn of corners that simply said one thing; pity.

Macarena wanted to claw it off her lips.

“Fine, i’ll humor you, do tell me how could i possibly help you on this?”

Macarena sighed, straightening herself, and taking a few deep breaths before whispering. “I need you to be my partner in a heist. I know we both hate each other, i most certainly do, but at the prison riot that we caused, we made a good team. And i need someone like that on this.”

Zulema felt amused. She felt ecstatic. How the tables have turned. The little bird became a hawk. Raising a single brow, Zulema adjusted herself on her elbows, crossing her fingers in front of her cheshire smile before saying.

“How poetic. Sure, fine, let’s say i agree to help you, you still haven’t told me how, exactly? Or have you not noticed i am in prison?”

“Obviously, i noticed.” She bited. “I was here just seven months ago.” Zulema sees a shiver go through Macarena’s shoulders. She pretends she didn’t see. “I have a plan. I can’t tell you all of it, but i can tell you that you need to be in the hospital wing in three days.”

Zulema raises her other brow.

“In three days, you need to be in one of those beds, find a way, tease a guard, make him beat you, or jump the balcony, i don’t care, just be there.”

Zulema smirks briefly remembering of the new guy guarding her cell. That shouldn’t be an issue. “Fine, i’ll be there.”

She mused to herself if she would actually do anything if Macarena asked nicely. But Macarena wasn’t asking nicely; she barely even spoke without a bite at the end of her sentences, her teeth clacking almost audibly.

It was really quite extraordinary, how far into Zulema's brain this woman's hooks had extended without her realizing. But of course there was something revolutionary in that, in admitting the fact itself.

She glanced around her surroundings – not quite with distaste, but something more akin to boredom. She will not miss it.

With that, Macarena raised from her chair and began making her way out. Zulema watched her carefully, curious about the blonde’s motivations behind all this.

Long gone are the days when Macarena would tremble in fear in her presence, now every second seems to take her last strain of willpower not to slap her on the spot. Zulema doesn’t know which one she prefers.

“Good. Three days, be there, should be easy for you, never saw you shy away from mayhem.” Macarena stood, her knuckles pink from slamming the table. She gave one last look at Zulema before turning away.

Despite the storm hammering away outside the windows, she could perfectly hear the echo of Maca’s boots walking away. The sight was slowly becoming a recurring one.

Zulema thought to herself if this was a good idea at all. Of course she had tried many times before to escape this very prison, but it was always her plan. Her choices. She was never one to easily trust, much less with something as important as her freedom.

Although, she ponders, If there was anyone on this Earth capable of making her follow a plan in the blind was Maca.

For now, she only had one thing to actually worry about.

A small smile started to form on her lips when the very focus of her thoughts came upon her line of vision. Her guard cell was coming to escort her back to her room.

It was going to be a very good week.


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zulema sets her game afoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: In my memory, Rizos was in love with Macarena. In this fic, it stayed that way until Macarena left, Rizos was still in love.

Zulema slowly twirls her spoon on her fingers.

The past two days passed slower than she would like, as days in prison often do, with her thoughts never truly leaving her previous conversation with Macarena. 

She sat at the cafeteria, lunch hour. She initially decided to sit alone to ponder about Maca’s demand. It was the only word capable of describing that conversation, Macarena wasn’t asking. 

She tried to make her guard get his little revenge on her, but to no vail. Either he simply ignored her, or was never near enough for her to try anything. Hurting herself would be too obvious, she has bad rep, they would simply let her bleed in her cell. 

She was running out of time. She needed someone to do it for her.

Eventually, her thoughts slowly migrated back to the blonde herself. 

She couldn't pinpoint exactly when Maca had become someone so similar to herself. Of course, she had her fair share of chaos implemented in her life, she wasn’t a easy going person herself, her upbringing never allowed much softness, if you’re soft, you die. It was very simple. 

But Maca didn't have decades to harden. She had years, four to be exact. 

She remembers the day Macarena stepped a foot inside this prison, all so innocent, a little bird, kicked out of her nest into the dark, dark world. Afraid. But somehow always finding a way to step her nose where it didn’t belong. 

How she would tremble with just a look. 

Now?

She’s stepping inside the prison like she owns it, _rules_ it, sits in front of her, and asks, no, demands Zulema to help her on a heist she planned herself.

The days are slow in prison, but people change like a current when trapped inside.

Laughter breaks her out of her reverie.

The sound abrupt enough to make her miss, and make her spoon fall on the table.

Annoyed, she glances around trying to find the origin of the sound. 

_Of course._

Her eyes catches the happy couple a few tables left from her. Saray and Rizos. What a _love story_. Rizos stayed sad Macarena left for exact three whole hours before crawling back to Saray again. Absolutely meant to be. 

With a sigh, Zulema starts rubbing her temples, a headache starting to take form. She missed her cigarettes. She misses so many things. 

When another loud laughter breaks out through the cafeteria, an idea starts to form on her head. 

_Why not?_

With a devil smirk on her lips, she slowly stands and makes her way to the lovey couple.

The laughter stops the minute she enters their line of vision. “What do you want, Zulema?” Spats Rizos, no traces of that annoying noise from before. Saray hesitates, choosing to see the scene happening in front of her. She knows better than to confront Zulema with no justification.

“Oh, me? Nothing. Just wanted to chat.” Zulema laughs, her voice so innocent. She takes a chair and sats herself. 

“Who said you could si-” 

“ Did you know that Maca came to visit me a few days ago?” 

That makes her pause. 

A brow lifts on Saray’s face, but she says nothing. Rizos, on the other hand, looks like she was slapped.

“You? She came to see _you_ , of all people?” She huffs, not believing one bit. If Macarena were to visit someone, she would be first. Wouldn’t she? 

“We were the best of friends, were we not?” Zulema is enjoying every second of this. She adjusts herself on her elbows. “We were all about braiding each other’s hair, sharing secrets…” She pauses, savoring this moment. 

Now, it was time to set the game afoot. 

“Sharing beds.” 

Rizos reaction is immediate. 

Her chair falls as she abruptly stands, her face red, slamming both of her fists on the table. The sound makes the cafeteria stop and watch. There isn’t many ways to distract yourself in prison, so a fight is always a tasty delight to see. Never expect to receive a helping hand if things go south. 

Which is exactly what she wants.

“You’re lying! You _lying_ whore! Macarena would rather be dead than lay in bed with you!” The words hiss between closed teeth, an enraged sound that would make any fool hesitate. But Zulema was no fool. 

“Well, she did came to visit me, didn’t she?” Zulema now has her hands softly supporting her chin, batting her lashes softly. She knew it was going to be a good week. Rizos hesitated. 

Ah.

Not so sure now, is she?

“Don’t listen to her, Ri, she’s just trying to make you pissed.” Saray tries, and fails, to get Rizos to sit back down. Deciding to hang limply by her side, not wanting to make things worse. 

The whole cafeteria is watching now. Waiting. Rizos angry always end up in a fist thrown or two. Anticipation grows heavy. 

“Who would have thought that she would prefer the evil one, right?” Zulema starts to slowly poke her, one needle at a time. “Maybe you just didn’t love her enough.” Another needle. “Or maybe just didn’t fuck her enough.” 

That does it. 

Zulema has enough time to take her tongue out of the way before a fist comes straight into her jaw, making her teeth clack audibly. She feels her mouth fill with blood before Rizos throws another one. 

Cheer erupts through the cafeteria, but she only hears a drumming in her ear, her heartbeat hammering into her skull. The headache now on full charge. 

She can feel more than see Rizos throwing her to the floor, on her knees above her, giving quite a show to their audience. 

Zulema has her hands to the side. Receiving each punch willingly. She needs damage, she needs blood, she needs to be in the hospital wing _today._

Her vision starts to fade.

Stars exploding behind her eyelids. 

The punching stops, and she feels herself being lifted, screams echoing in the back of her mind.

The last thing she sees are the cold, white lights of the infirmary, a sly smile forming on her lips.

This is just the beginning.


	3. Rift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward, one step backwards, is it progress or is it a dance?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad you guys are liking it! I'm very excited to write this story, many plans in mind!

The first thing Zulema feels when she wakes up is the soft fabric beneath her fingers.

  
The second makes her wish she didn’t wake. _Pain_. Agonizing pain. Her jaw feels heavy, the inside of her cheeks burn, her stomach feels tender and the metal taste still lingers on her tongue, she notices, mentally cursing the very existence of that curly haired bitch.

  
After a few seconds, her mind catches up to her ears, and she hears the most unbelievable sound.

  
_Seagulls._

  
A smile starts to form on her lips but she instantly regrets the movement as it makes the tender skin on her face loudly complain.  
Letting out a groan, she tries to access the damage that bitch made on her face.

  
“You’re awake.”

  
That makes her stop. She didn’t realized she had company in her room.

  
Carefully cracking an eye open, only to close it again. Too bright.

  
“Will you turn off the goddamn light, please?” Her voice comes out hoarse, her throat dry.

  
“It’s the windows, actually.” She hears Macarena getting up and heading somewhere to her left to close the windows. The room is embraced by darkness and she lets out a sigh of relief.

  
Slowly, she tries again to open her eyes, a much easier task without the light stabbing mercilessly at her eyeballs. Blinking once, twice, she fully opens them, and scans the room she finds herself.  
There is a single bed, that she lies in, a wardrobe and a writing desk to her right, to her left, the goddam window and a comfy looking chair Macarena was sitting on.

  
“You were watching me sleep? How romantic.” She grunts, not bothering to actually face Macarena this early in the…afternoon, apparently. She closes her eyes back again, letting herself enjoy the first comfortable bed in years.

  
She hears Macarena huff, before taking her seat again. “More like, ensuring you weren't gonna betray me.” She says, crossing her arms.

  
Zulema actually lets out a laugh.

  
The sound makes Macarena squirm in her seat.

  
“Right, because I am in the fucking perfect condition to escape.” Zulema once again fully opens her eyes to, at last, gaze upon her former cellmate.

  
Like she suspected, she looks the same as the day she came to visit her in prison. Her hair has grown, the blonde roots being replaced for her natural dark color. No rain jacket this time, only a long sleeved blouse she keeps wiggling at the sleeves, a nervous habit, perhaps. A simple worn down jeans and her feet, Zulema notices, are bare.

  
When her gaze reaches her eyes, she notices she stared for too long. Curious, she decides to extend it. One, two, three seconds pass before Macarena looks away.

  
Zulema holds back a smirk.

  
“Can't be too careful with you, Zulema.”

  
A smile forms on the scorpion's lips.

  
“Neither with you, apparently.” She breathed. Macarena catches her gaze again. “After all, you took me out of jail. Not so innocent anymore.” Macarena looks taken aback.

  
Zulema wonders if she misses her or the cigarettes the most.

  
She catches a whisper of a smile before Macarena rises from her chair. When she straights herself again, the smile is nowhere to be seen.

  
“Well, like I told you, I needed you.”

  
Zulema raises a brow, wondering if the blonde notices her favoritism on the word. Macarena cleans her throat before heading to the door.

  
_She does._

  
“You should take a shower, there are some clothes you could use on the wardrobe, the bathroom is the first door to your right. Do as you please, dinner is in half an hour.” With that Macarena turns and, once again, walks away after closing the door.

  
Recurring sight indeed.

  
She takes a moment to embrace the bed once again.

  
She’s free.

  
That thought alone makes the pain decrease to a minor throb.

  
Swigging her legs out the bed, she slowly raises herself to a sited position. Only now noticing she’s still in her prison clothes, blood spots all around her collar. She most definitely needs a shower.  
She difficultly stands and makes her way to the wardrobe on her right, inside she finds the clothes Maca mentioned, a simple black turtleneck, underwear, and jeans. Taking them, she heads straight to the bathroom.

  
She turns on the water on the bath, makes a quick work on her clothes, and stops to stare at her reflection.

  
Her face is a purple mess. Her bottom lip is cut at one corner, her left cheek almost black and she can count a bruise or two on her right. A few scatter around her stomach where she didn’t realized Rizos had hit her. The mystery of her difficult breathing being resolved.

  
She looks like a beaten wild animal.

  
Zulema sees her mouth form a smirk.

  
No longer on a cage.

  
Her smile widens when she ponders about her prison escape. She still needs to ask the blonde about it. The last time she successfully escaped, a lot of blood were shed, she wonders how similar had they actually become.

  
Half her brain is telling her to run. She has her freedom, she can’t trust it at Maca’s hands, it’s way too precious. The other’s screaming she doesn’t have to be alone again.

  
She can perfectly picture the suffocating damp air from her prison cell, the cement walls, the empty bunk bed.

  
Her days in prison were divided between reading, eating, and pondering about all the things she lost in the past few years. The sadness hurt, physically. Not having the liberty to feel the sand on her feet, the wind on her hair, being alone makes everything worse.

  
When she had Saray, her sister, it was all under control, until the expected happened, she got stung. Like everyone does when they get too close to her.

  
She briefly pictures a story she heard when she was small, about a poor frog who got too close to a scorpion, when it eventually stung him, he asked why did he do that to him, and the scorpion only answer was: it’s my nature.  
  


And then, after the death of her daughter. She feels the familiar burn behind her eyes.

  
Macarena there changed everything.

  
Zulema shuts her eyes angrily, her hands gripping the sink tightly. Not the best moment to dwell on her past.

  
She sinks herself in the hot water and actually lets out a moan. Her body slowly relaxing, the bruises had made it hold an unusual tension.

  
When she finishes getting dressed, she makes her way to where she imagines the kitchen area would be.

  
The hallway ends straight to a simple kitchen, with a fridge and stove near the wall and american countertops, the figure she sees slight curved in front of them makes her smirk.

  
“What is she doing here?”

  
Fabio snarls at her. He seemed to be in the process of cutting a few vegetables, for dinner, she guessed. He’s a mirror to the perfect image of the Stay-At-Home husband, apron, hand towel thrown at his shoulder, cooking.  
Life with Macarena is doing him good.

  
“This is what you made me pick up from prison?” He stares ahead of him.

  
Following his line of sight to the couch, her gaze meets Macarena’s, she expected to find shame in them, but she finds nothing. The blonde has a blank face, not believing his words worthy of a reply, they both knew the answer.

  
“I’m glad they fit you.”

  
Zulema raises a brow.

  
“Like a glove. Are they yours?”

  
“Yes.”

  
Zulema doesn’t know how she feels about that.

  
“I actually wanted to talk to you.” She pats the spot beside her, once, an invite.

  
Before Zulema could do anything, a hand makes its way to her chest.

  
She wants to cut it off.

  
“No fucking conversation before you tell me why this bitch is the reason I risked the life of my men to save.” Fabio hisses, his gaze making holes on Macarena's skull. Her former cellmate sighs, visually counting to ten before answering.

  
“I told you the plan needed something more.”

  
“And this is what you came up with? The woman who killed your family?”

  
Macarena’s eyes harden.

  
“I’m aware who she is, Fabio. I’m asking you to trust me. I wouldn’t be doing this if I felt like I had a choice.”

  
“You do have! Throw her back in prison, let me handle this!”

  
Zulema has an amused smile through the entire discussion.

  
“Looks like i’m the favorite.” She teases, whispering to his ear.

  
His hand goes to her neck, and squeezes, tightly.

  
“You shut your mouth before I clean the toilet with it, again.” He spits to her face. Macarena is at his side immediately. Ripping his hand from her neck.

  
Zulema let’s out a snarl.

  
“Knock it off!” Macarena grunted between closed teeth, putting herself between the two of them. “I’ll explain it to you after dinner, alone, how about that?”

  
Zulema can see from her position him weighting his choices.

  
Fabio just grunts, angrily ripping the towel from his shoulder, going back to his vegetable dicing.

  
“I think it’s marvelous. I’m famished.” Zulema says, a grin on her face. She sits on the dinning table in front of the counters, directly in front of Fabio, and grabs the silverware vertically with both hands, the perfect picture of the word hungry. The only thing missing was a napkin in her collar.

  
Macarena sighs, rubbing her temples, feeling suddenly very tired.

  
It was going to be a long night.


	4. Amend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Signs of addiction, signs of abstinence, or maybe something in the middle?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe this chapter will shine a new light to their dynamic, a much needed talk.

After the eleventh change of position, Macarena accepts that her rest will simply not come.

Fabio is snoring soundly, his body like a heavy furnace pressing against her side. His right arm trapping her middle. She feels suffocated. 

After dinner ended, he wasted no time into dragging her to the bedroom, demanding his answers. Zulema, feeling inspired, had been teasing him throughout dinner, testing the color palette of red shades his face would get. 

He had been fuming by the time she closed the bedroom door. He growled more than spoke. Not understanding why he was not enough, she doubts his concerns were restricted to the welfare's of the plan. She, however, just felt tired.

As much as she tried to comfort him, Macarena just couldn't confess, to him or to herself, that she simply needed Zulema more than she needed him.

Letting out a sigh, she delicately removes Fabio’s arm, putting on a robe before making her way to the kitchen. 

Clicking the light switch on, she puts a kettle on the stove, deciding to make some tea to help her sleep. Her body got used to sleeping with other four woman in the room. Or at least a single one. 

Her eyes naturally trace a beeline to the balcony, somehow not feeling surprised to whom she finds there. 

Mentally settling that she just won’t be able to get any sleep tonight, she turns off the fire, and makes her way to the the seated figure, only pausing briefly to pocket the pack of cigarettes she secretly hides on the bookshelf.

Prison habits. 

The balcony has a simple set of table, with two old wooden chairs. The cottage had belonged to her family, where her father wanted to spend his retirement, he believed the air on the beach would do him good. The first place she thought about when leaving jail. Too many memories in their old house. 

Zulema is sitting to her left, simply staring at the ocean a couple of feet ahead of them. Not noticing her yet.

She takes the moment to truly gaze at Zulema. The kitchen light coming from behind her was giving her a soft glow, but even low light can’t mask the keen look from her face. Her head was tilted to the side, the angle making her cheekbones seem sharper, the purple curve becoming an edge. On her lip, a nasty cut — She doesn’t know if she wants to kiss it or press it down to make it hurt.

“Cigarette?” 

She flinches, a hand going to her chest. 

“Fuck!” Zulema had not been expecting company, nor wanting. “What?”

Deciding to show rather than repeat herself, Macarena extends the cigarette pack her way. 

Zulema changes her mind. 

“It’s funny that my body got used to sleeping in the same room as you.” 

Zulema has an amused look when she reaches and takes a cigarette. Macarena takes a step to lit it, bending slightly, gently covering the flame with a hand, the ocean breeze too swift. 

“Is that an invitation? If Fabio was pissed today…” 

The position makes her face a couple inches away from Zulema, she lifts her gaze to meet hers, the fire making her honey colored eyes seem almost red.

“He’s quite the cuddly bear, you would like it.” 

Zulema snickers, taking a drag of the, now, lit cigarette. Macarena straightens herself, joining the woman beside her in staring at the ocean, lighting a cigarette for herself.

“I was just thinking about how prison changed me.” She takes a heavy drag, letting the smoke burn her throat a little. “The first time I stepped in that prison, I swore that in the moment I left, I would live the most honest life possible.” Macarena exhales, a bitter smile on her face. 

“Did you know that the first thing I did when I truly left Cruz del Norte, was to get an ice-cream?” She asks Zulema, turning to face her, a simple turn of lips, bittersweet. 

“I would kill for one right now.” The brunette groans, her eyes closing, imagining a scoop or two of her favorite flavor. She opens her eyes to gaze at Maca, smiling at the memory — Her heart skips a beat. 

Zulema smiling was always a sight that seemed to sneak up on her, taking her by surprise, like a blow cutting through her defenses, directly into her teeth.

She frowns.

“I wanted to share it with the ones I loved.” 

Zulema grimaces “Look, rubia, if you want an apology—” 

“No. It won’t change anything.” Making an effort to keep the anger at bay, she opens her mouth again “It was at that moment the heist came into mind.” 

“I sat for hours, thinking about everything that had happened to me up to that point. Símon, prison, Sandoval… You.” Swallowing hard, she throws the cigarette bud on the sand, crossing her arms. “I came to the conclusion I needed to do something to prevent any more shit to happen.” 

“And an heist is what you came up with?” 

Macarena sighs, briefly glancing behind her before taking the seat closer to Zulema — Her voice low. “Not just one.” 

The brunette lift a brow. 

“That day, I realized normal life wasn’t for me anymore. I decided to take control on what I do from now on. It took months to plan this heist, but it was never my intention to stop at one.” 

Zulema is absolutely amused, her eyes glowing. She puts out the cigarette at the corner of the table.

“That's why I took you out of prison.” A confession. “I can’t do it alone.” Another.

Zulema slowly reaches into the pocket of Macarena’s robe, looking fixedly into her eyes, a sly smile on her face. 

Macarena holds a breath. 

Her hand closes on the cigarette pack, and in a snail pace, removes it. 

“You — She ignites another cigarette, taking a drag, before softly blowing the smoke on Macarena’s face — need me.” 

“Yes.” Barely comes out of her lips, her jaw tight. 

Zulema's smirk makes her close her hands in a fist, suddenly regretting ever coming out of bed. 

“You never actually told me how you did that.” Zulema is watching her, her cheek carefully resting on her hand, a penetrating gaze, making her visually uncomfortable. Watching Macarena squirm on her seat had always been one of her favorite things to do, among other things. She had missed it.

“It’s much easier planning from the other side of the walls. Six months after I left, I reached out to Fabio, told him what I wanted to do, then the plan. The thought of taking you out only came when I saw he was falling in love with me, again.” Macarena is staring ahead now, rigid, holding her right knee to her chest. 

Pathetic.

“He’s distracted. Freedom, the money, are not his priorities. And then, I thought of you.” Turning her head, her face relaxed, her eyes, however, angry. “I personally know how far you are willing to go for your freedom.”

“Fabio thinks we’re playing house, in here. I know you won’t.” 

Zulema doesn’t need to confirm her anything, they both had lost things from her never ending search for freedom. She has a thoughtful look on her face, picking apart that sentence. No, Zulema would never believe they were living the life of the merrily married couple, living the honeymoon on a resort by the beach, she wasn’t soft. She’d rather do something else.

Zulema bites on her thumb for a moment, Macarena readjusts herself. 

“He contacted a few of his old friends, the ones willing to give up their honor for money. I never told him exactly who I was taking out, just that the person was going to be on the infirmary. I think he assumed it was going to be Rizos.” 

Zulema traces her bottom lip with her thumb, mentally cursing the woman again.

“They were Cruz Del Norte guards, once upon a time, one of them, still working there. He shut the garage, infirmary and hallways cameras off. Taking you, putting on our van, and we drove you here.” Macarena finishes, Zulema was staring at her the entire conversation, making her neck feel warm. 

Zulema nods, processing. Then, her eyes flash with intention, Macarena prepares herself. 

“Do you wanna have sex?” 

Didn’t prepared enough. 

Zulema watches, in anticipation. She half expected Macarena to blush, but she knows better. She had two months to trace every inch of Maca’s face, categorizing all of her expressions, she had seen that angry look in her eyes before, and what came right after. 

She slowly reaches for Macarena’s wrist, watching, she makes the hand close on her neck. 

“Remember?” She says, her voice a whisper. Zulema’s watches Macarena through her eyelashes, counting the seconds. She never reached six, before.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four—

She feels the hand on her neck squeeze. Hard. Zulema feels ecstatic. She truly never handled with temptations really well. 

Zulema feels her eyes close, letting out a sigh.

Macarena feels hot, she’s heaving, with anger and lust. Torn between squeezing harder, until her lips are blue, or kiss that annoying smirk off her face. 

She told her this would stop. But Zulema never obeyed anyone.

With the last bit of control, Macarena stands, releasing her, storming out of the balcony.

Zulema couldn’t be more pleased. She always enjoyed pushing her buttons, one by one, to see what would happen, how would Maca react. This one was a button she always had the uttermost pleasure into pressing. 

With a chuckle, Zulema takes out another cigarette, if you can’t have one addiction, you always give in to another.

She takes a drag, and observes the waves crashing in the distance. 

Tomorrow was going to be a very interesting day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think? 
> 
> I never saw Zulema as one to shy away from her temptations, so I can’t imagine her wanting Macarena, and not acting on it, do you? 
> 
> After all, Zulema wasn’t lying to Rizos * wink wink *
> 
> Next one will be a flashback, of how it all began, and their first time. 
> 
> * wink wink *


	5. Zahir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zahir, from Arabic, means someone that once we come into contact, gradually occupies our every thought, until we reach a point we can think of nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be a flashback about their time in prison, before Macarena left. 
> 
> We’ll see what happened right after their riot, their first time, how Macarena left, and how these two women managed to get addicted to themselves without either of them noticing. 
> 
> I wanted to make the flashback fit in just one chapter, so this will be a long one. hahah

The police had the prison on complete lock down the second they found them. Not expecting to see all of them sitting, quietly, on the courtyard.

Macarena didn’t give them much attention, her eyes on the flames, bright, burning the body of her friend — her mother. She raises her gaze to the sky above, at the stars — the smoke rising, kindly, to meet them. She wonders to herself if she searched really hard, she would find a star that shinnied just like Sole’s smile.

The police hesitates half a heartbeat before chaos explodes. Taking them, by force, to the main courtyard. They couldn’t — nor they would —know who were the women responsible for Sandoval’s death. The prisoners wouldn’t say. 

The solution they found? Solitary for the most troublemakers they can name from the top of their heads. Of course. Zulema and herself included. 

In fact, they were the first to be dragged by their hair. 

Macarena could hear Zulema’s snarls from behind her, her head was low, being held in a grip by the guard, her feet tripping on themselves as they dragged them to the solitary cells. 

He trows her inside her cell, she falls head first, her wrists bracing the impact, sending shock waves of pain up to her elbows. The door closes with a heavy thud. She can hear through the wall Zulema kicking and punching the guard on the cell beside hers. Another heavy thud, and then silence. 

Macarena heavily drops herself on the floor, turning, letting out a sigh and staring at the ceiling. 

She hated solitary. 

— - — 

Three days in, the silence is cut with a sound. 

Macarena takes two or three seconds to understand it’s not just her heartbeat on the bed of her ears. It’s a voice. 

Sitting up from her position on the bed, she puts her ear close to the wall. Nothing. She drops on the floor on her knees, crawling to the air vent closer to the door. 

The sound gets louder. 

The lights are off, they were supposed to be asleep, but in solitary, nights become days, days become nights the longer you stay inside your own head.

Macarena sits with her back to the vent, her knees close to her chest, on this position, she can make out the voice perfectly. 

It’s Zulema, singing. 

_Yalla Tnam, Yafki Albaka._

_Yalla Yalla, Habibi. Yalla Yalla Tnam._

Macarena doesn’t understands a single word, but the feeling behind them is clear. Grief. 

She wonders the meaning behind them, but instead of asking, she closes her eyes, letting the voice lull her into sleep. 

— - —

“What were you singing about?” 

Zulema jumps at the unexpected sound. 

A week deep into solitary, she feels like her mind carved a hole within itself, dragging her slowly deep inside, making the outside world feels like a fog, hazed.

She stands from the bed, sitting beside the air vent, unknowingly mirroring the blonde on the other side. 

Resting her head on the wall, she ponders wether to share or not. 

“A lullaby.” She whispers. Felling her mind take her to the day she sang it to her daughter. 

Only six years old. 

She had know where she was for years, but simply couldn’t bring herself to come, she knew the moment she let her daughter inside, she would be destroyed.

On that day, however, by the time she noticed, she was by her door.

Peering at the window, she sees her.

Laying on a bed so tiny, her brown locks thrown carelessly on the pillow, arms and legs going everywhere, so different from her. 

She lifts the window silently, not wishing to wake her. Throwing one leg over the windowsill, then the other, she enters her room — Looking around.

The floor was a mess, toys scattered everywhere, clothes, she thinks to herself that she must be as stubborn as she is. A smile graces her lips. 

A sniff makes her turn.

Big brown eyes stare back at her. She’s crying, sitting on the bed.

Zulema feels her heart stop, opening her mouth to say she means no harm.

“Are you my mother?” 

She closes it.

“Yes.” 

“Can you stay?” 

“No.” 

Zulema sees her bottom lip tremble, her heart now is carving a hole deep inside her.

“Why?” 

She feels the back of her eyes burn, her throat closing up. Instead of answering, Zulema lays down beside her.

Her child clutches to her shirt with a iron fist, burying her face on her chest, crying softly. Zulema can’t take it anymore. 

She embraces her daughter, holding her tightly, rocking softly, kissing her head. Giving in for a second, feeling all the love she has for this tiny human that she put on this world. She remembers everything, how she felt her grow inside her, how strong she cried when she came into this world, how much pain she felt when she was taken away.

She lets the tears run through her cheeks. 

Mindlessly, she starts singing. 

_Yalla Tnam, Yafki Albaka._

_Yalla Yalla, Habibi. Yalla Yalla Tnam._

Zulema feels her daughter start to relax, her crying stops, but she keeps holding her tight, caressing the dark locks with her hand, until she falls asleep.

She then hears a whisper coming from her chest, from inside, from her heart. 

_Don’t leave._

She stands, letting herself gaze upon her daughter one more time, memorizing every inch of her face before climbing the windowsill again, and deep into the night.

— - —

Every night since then, when the lights are off, Macarena hears her sing.

— - — 

Lights and noises wake her up abruptly. 

The doors open violently, the guards rudely takes her by the arms, dragging her outside the solitary cell. 

Macarena fights as best as she can, kicking their shins, nailing their forearms. 

From the edge of her eye, she sees them doing the same with Zulema. Before she turns the corner, she catches the brunette spitting on their faces. 

They only stop dragging them when they reach a cell, not the one she usually stays. The guards releases her and Zulema inside, before closing the gate. Macarena runs to the door, gripping the gate with both hands.

“This is not our cell!” 

“It is now.” And they leave.

Letting out a sigh, she turns, a hand going through her hair. The other, on her hip.

Scanning the room, she finds three bunk beds, the usual pattern, however, only the two of them occupying it. 

Zulema stands, cleaning the back of her pants before sitting on the middle bed.

The lights off, it's bedtime apparently. 

“Are you gonna sleep in that one?” Macarena asks, not that it will be much of a problem, they have six beds to themselves. 

Instead of answering, Zulema simply rises, climbing to the bed above.

Shrugging, Macarena decides to take the one she was just sitting on, right bellow the brunette. Laying down, feeling completely awake, she wonders if the solitary really happened. She always felt strange after leaving it. 

A few hours pass before she hears soft singing coming from above her. Feeling like a piece is falling into place, Macarena closes her eyes, and let the voice, and sleep, embrace her.

— - —

In the next morning, she wakes up to an empty room.

Stretching the remaining sleep from her muscles, she rises, deciding on a shower before breakfast. 

On her way to the bathroom, she meets Rizos and Saray.

“Hey! You survived!” Rizos hugs her, kissing her cheek softly. Saray gives her a little punch on the shoulder, with a smile.

“How long did I stay in there?” 

“About ten days.” 

“Crazy, I could swear I had spent the whole month.” 

Saray gives her a lazy shrug. “I know what you mean, the time I actually spent a whole month in there? Felt like years! I was expecting Estrellita to come jumping right out!” She exclaims, her hands imitating an explosion coming from her belly.

Macarena gives a chuckle, Rizos puts an arm around her shoulders, leading the three of them to the showers. 

When they get clean, they enter the cafeteria. A rush of people, moving, walking, talking. Macarena almost feels overwhelmed, used to the silence. Or at least close to that. 

“Let’s sit with everyone.” 

They move to a table near the middle, all her friends entering her line of vision. She has Rizos on one side, and Terê on the other, the slim woman gives her a small smile as she sits herself on the chair. 

“Speak up, blondie, where did they put you now? We didn’t see you last night.” Goya asks, cleaning her teeth with her ever present toothpick between her fingers.

“They actually moved me to a different cell. Just me and Zulema.” 

Goya blows a whistle, the whole table gets an apprehensive look on their faces, Rizos just looks pissed.

“They put you together? What were they thinking?” 

Macarena shrugs, not afraid of Zulema anymore. 

“I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes next to her.” Terê shivers, covering her eyes with both her hands, before embracing her own shoulders. 

“How is it like?” 

Zulema’s singing rings through her mind.

Her eyes meets Rizos’, actually considering the question. 

“Quieter than you’d think.” 

— - —

When Macarena comes back to her cell, she finds Zulema reading on her bed.

She lets out a sigh, her hands on her hips, preparing for the worst. Making her way to the foot of the bed, she crosses her arms and waits. 

“Enjoying my scent or just trying to annoy me?” She asks, her tone impatient. 

Zulema meets her eyes, not putting the book down. 

“Clearly, your scent.” Macarena snorts. 

Zulema closes the book, putting it beside her before standing in front of her. Their faces mere inches from each other, she can feel her breath warm on her cheeks. There would be a time this approach would scare her, now, she just waits to see what the brunette might do.

She can see from her point of view Zulema debating with herself, a keen look on her face. Macarena starts counting the seconds on her head, bored.

“You came back.” 

Ah. 

“I told you why.” 

“And now you’re here.” Zulema’s eyes are analyzing her face, trying to understand. “You could be free, by now.” 

“And miss the opportunity to wake next to you every day?” 

Zulema lets out a laugh, she feels it on her face.

Macarena takes the moment to analyze Zulema herself. She looks tired, she mustn’t have been sleeping right, the blonde assumes, the reason behind the singing must be the cause. 

“To whom are you singing to every night?” She whispers. Zulema had not been expecting it, her eyes widen before hardening. 

“Why?” 

“It helps me sleep, and i’m curious.” Macarena shrugs, not minding the holes Zulema’s stare are making on her face, mentally comparing her situation to feeling relaxed in front of the barrel of a gun. 

She doesn’t move from their position, holding their stare match — a heavy tension filling the room. Macarena’s not really expecting an true answer, simply pushing her buttons before Zulema tries to push hers.

After being Zulema’s enemy for years, she picked up a few clues to what exactly expect coming from her. Her eyes — unconsciously, she guesses — tell more than Zulema intends. At the moment, honey became green, and green means anger, which it usually comes with the company of a punch to her face. 

Zulema simply holds the headboard by her head, sucking the front on her teeth, her eyes squinting a little. Macarena prepares herself to what might come from this interaction.

“Fátima.” Zulema confesses, surprising them both.

Before she can say anything, a guard knocks on the bars of their cell.

“Macarena Ferreiro, you have a visit.” 

— - —

“I thought I had seen the last of you, Castillo” 

Macarena says with a smile, taking a sit in front of the older man she started to look up as a father through the years. 

“Well, one more won’t hurt.” He puts a heavy file on the table. “Hong Fang is alive. And I need you to testify against him and his sister.” 

Macarena is confused. 

“I was in a coma when all of this happened.” 

“Exactly, a coma his sister put you in. We’re trying to put as many dirt on his case possible, we can’t let him get away.” 

“And, what, you came in person just to tell me this? Missing me already?” 

Castillo gives her a smile. “Yes, but not just that.” He opens the file, turns and points at a name. “See this judge? I caught him last week trying to rape his twelve year old niece, his wife is an old friend, called me just in time. Now — He closes the file — he owns me a favor. A big one.” 

He crosses his fingers and lays them on the table. “I asked him to reduce your sentence to two months if you help us arrest Hong Fang.” His smile a full blown grin by now. 

Macarena can’t believe her own ears. She thought she lost her last chance of freedom at the riot.

“Are you serious?!” 

“I am, the trial is tomorrow morning, I will come to pick you up myself.” 

Macarena lets out a squeal, standing from her chair to give him a hug, the position difficult due to the table between them. 

“Yes, I’ll do it, I’ll be there.” She says with her face on his neck. He gives her an affectionate pat on her back, before she retrieves herself and sits on the chair once again.

He takes and puts the file underneath his armpit, getting ready to leave. 

“Eight o’clock. Don’t bail on me this time.” Castillo says with a finger pointed at her, his usual grumpy look on his face. 

“I won’t.” 

Macarena watches him leave, feeling a surge of affection for him. 

She’s going to be free.

— - —

The next morning comes, and he takes her to the trial. She testifies.

Hong Fang is found guilty and her sentence is reduced to sixty days.

Macarena cries on the prison bus on her way back.

— - —

Zulema is trying to read when Macarena enters their cell, a huge grin on her face, her eyes a little red.

Macarena stands by the side of their bunkbed, not bothered to find Zulema once again on her's. She starts to strip off her heavy coat, wearing only the ordinary white tank top. 

She turn to face Zulema with both her hands on her knees, lowering herself to the brunette’s eye level.

“Looks like that the room will be only yours in a couple of months.” 

Zulema sits straighter, book forgotten.

“What?” 

“Castillo found a way to shorten my sentence. I’m leaving in two months.” 

_Puta._

Zulema feels her entire body tremble with anger, fire burning inside her chest. Macarena has a sly smile on her face. She’s enjoying this.

Zulema wants to rip it off. 

The blonde straightens herself, maintaining her neck at a safe distance, there’s a limit to how much she can tease Zulema before she strikes. 

She makes her way out of the prison cell, backwards, watching Zulema with a smirk, only turning her back when she passes through the threshold.

Zulema thinks about killing her. 

Twice. 

— - —

Zulema spends the night thinking about Macarena leaving.

They are enemies, but the blonde has saved her skin a couple of times, and Zulema would never accept her death being caused by someone other than herself. 

Practically, a friendship, by her standards.

With her leaving, she’d be alone. It’s worse when she’s alone.

She mended things with Saray, but the woman had other priorities now. A daughter. Who she tried to kill. These kinds of things takes a toll on any friendship. 

Her relationship with Macarena wasn’t as complicated and delicate as a true friendship, they hated each other. Enemies. She heard that she makes an excellent enemy. 

She taps her bottom lip with a fingernail, Macarena’s soft snores on the background. 

Her mind flashes a thought on her head, and in a instant, she rises to her feet.

Even with the lights off, she can see the blonde head, her chest rising and falling softly, remembering the day she saw it stop. 

She wouldn’t accept it. Macarena was hers to kill. 

Hers. 

She moves.

Zulema gracefully sits on top of Macarena, each knee on one of her sides, straddling her. Macarena wakes up in a heartbeat, frighted eyes staring back at her. The brunette’s hand goes to her mouth — hushing her. 

She waits for the blonde calm down before taking her hand off.

“What are you doing, Zulema?” 

She doesn’t answer, simply watching the woman below her, admiring. She leans forward, closer, putting both hands on either side of Macarena’s head. Her black hair falling like a curtain, framing her face. 

From her point of view, Macarena can see a glint in her eyes, pupils reflecting the light from the corridor, a glimmer of malicious delight in them. The blonde briefly pictures a giant cougar, lurking, waiting to strike. She holds her breath.

Zulema tilts her head to the side, a smirk on her lips. 

Supporting her weight on one hand, she closes her fingers on Macarena’s wrist. Slowly, bringing it to the space between them, lifting it, making her close a grip on the brunette's neck. 

She waits, watching in anticipation, counting the seconds on her head.

One.

Two.

Three—

Macarena squeezes, hard, angry. 

Zulema's eyelids flicker with pleasure, she sighs, the sound making Macarena’s insides burn with fury — hatred — a hot coil starting to tighten on her stomach.

Macarena doesn’t know — or care — exactly what Zulema is up to, but she will never miss an opportunity to discount a couple of years of congested anger. She feels the soft skin beneath her fingers, tendons and muscle complaining under the pressure, hard enough to leave a bruise. 

Zulema starts to grind her hips above her, the movement sending hot waves over her body. The feeling is there, the blonde knows, but to feel it, is to acknowledge it, and she simply can’t do it right now, choosing to fixate her mind on the red-hot frustration building up inside her. 

The brunette starts to leave red angry lines down on her arm, clawing, she reaches the front hem of her shirt — going under it— her hands rooming through her chest, scratching, grasping, not feeling enough. Macarena’s breath starts coming in shallow gasps. 

When cold fingers reach her breasts, she feels her control snap. 

Pulling sharply Zulema by her neck, closer to her face, warm sighs caressing her cheeks — feeling her whole weight above her.

“I hate you.” The words clipping on her teeth. Zulema laughs, the sound making her see red. 

Macarena's mouth crashes against hers. Violently, putting every nasty sentiment behind it. Bitting her bottom lip, hard, draining blood, making Zulema hiss. The kiss tastes like prison toothpaste, mingled with the metallic taste of her blood. A battle of wills, neither letting the other gain control. 

Zulema is livid. 

Initially, her plan was to simply give her a scare, but the moment she straddled the blonde, she gave in to temptation. A weakness. 

She roams the blonde’s chest, clawing hard, marking her. Pushing the shirt out of the way, she starts caressing her breasts, swallowing her moans with her mouth.

The hand on her neck leaves to form a fist of dark hair on the nape of her head, pulling, leaving nail marks on her scalp — the other starts pulling the hem of her own shirt.

Zulema brings her lips to the shell of the blonde’s ear, momentarily breaking the kiss, closing them on a lobe, bitting — a gasp — and descending to the pale neck, sucking, scraping the skin with her teeth — a moan — finding the pulse point at the base of her neck, leaving a purple mark there, visible. 

Putting her weight on one elbow, she repositions herself between the blonde’s thighs — reconnecting their lips — one hand trailing down her stomach, toying with the edge of her pants, the woman bellow her squirms.

Macarena’s mind is in a haze, want and anger battling inside her skull, she trails her nails up Zulema’s spine, unkind, and then follows the pain with a caress with her palms, deepening the kiss, bringing the hand from the dark locks to the brunette’s cheek. 

Zulema is toying with her, her fingers lingering in the space between her pants and the hem of her panties, a whisper of a touch — driving her mad. 

Removing her mouth from the woman above her, she grips her cheek, pushing, waiting for dark unfocused pupils to find her own.

“Stop playing and fuck me already.” She manages to say between tightly closed teeth.

Zulema smirk tells her she had been waiting for precisely that, a tongue traces the cut she made on her bottom lip, amused.

She gives a little laugh before sliding two curved fingers inside her, sucking Macarena’s scream into her mouth.

_God._

Her hips rocks into brunette's fingers as if trying to absorb her. Deeper. Zulema fucks her the same way she does everything else: Aggressively. Red-hot tension accumulating on the pit of her abdomen. 

She struggles to keep quiet, choosing to close her teeth on Zulema’s shoulders, clawing her back. Her legs lifting to embrace her hips, the position changing the angle, her fingers hitting a sweet spot, making stars explode on the back of her eyelids. 

The woman above her picks up the pace, going deeper, faster, she feels the tension inside her reaching a critic point, the sounds of muffled moans and wet slick heat filling the room.

And suddenly, hot waves of delirious pleasure course through her body, she screams into Zulema’s shoulders, the brunette not stopping for a single second. 

With a final moan, her body collapses — twitching — breathing hard.

Zulema stops her movements, pulling back a little to gaze at the scene bellow her. She’s flushed, a line of purple marks along her neck and collarbones, heaving breasts, her blonde hair a tangled mess on the pillow. 

She retrieves her fingers — the wetness reflecting the corridor’s light — cleaning them on the blonde’s shirt. An amused smile on her face. 

Macarena takes a moment to recover her breathing, willing her muscles back to life, closing her eyes. 

Suddenly feeling colder, she opens them back again to find the brunette missing, the sound of wood clicking from the bed above pointing out her location.

Covering her face with her hands, the blonde starts to wonder what just happened, feeling the anger build up again — the throbbing between her legs making her uncomfortable. 

She considers getting up, her hands itching to close once again upon the woman’s neck above her, but she doesn’t move. 

Choosing to accept that this time, she lost — a delicious lost — but still. 

She gave in to Zulema’s wishes, she admits — suppressing her mind’s reminders of her very willing participation — there’s no point in denying that, the brunette knows. 

Changing to a better position, the blonde tries to fall asleep, her body relaxing completely on the bed. 

— - —

For the first time in weeks, Zulema’s dream weren’t haunted with her daughter’s face. 

Only a blonde head, and soft moans on her ears.

— - — 

Before she notices, it became a habit. 

Every night, it happens just like a dance. The lights are off, both of them pretending to be asleep, and then she feels Zulema sit on her bed.

She never asks, she doesn’t have to. 

The sound of moans fill the room, and then when she opens her eyes, she’s alone, the brunette back at her bed. 

On rare occasions, when they are both panting, sweating, their hands between each other’s legs, she can see Zulema’s eyes change. 

As fast as a ray of lighting, beautiful, dangerous, making her heart skip a beat.

She sees tenderness. 

With a blink, it’s gone, and she starts thinking she imagined it. Not a second later, Zulema picks up the pace and sends her over the edge. Warm honey eyes fading from her mind.

— - — 

She spends most of her days sitting with the girls — chatting. 

Sometimes, she catches a glimpse of a brunette hair on the corner of her eye, smoking on the courtyard with Saray on her side. 

Their gazes match, simultaneously feeling anger coursing through her spine, and heat pooling up between her thighs. 

Zulema winks at her, before taking a drag on her cigarette, and turning to answer a question Saray made her.

She hates that her eyes find to the clock on the wall, counting the hours until she can wipe that smirk off her face.

— - —

On her last day in prison, the girls decided to throw her a party.

Macarena is touched. 

They made her a cake, or at least something close to that, putting together a few yogurts, tied with a shoelace, a single lit cigarette in the middle — as a candle, she assumes. 

She hugs and embraces everyone, feeling warm surrounded by her new found family. Each one takes an yogurt, after Macarena cheekily pretends to blow the cigarette-candle. 

They sit on the courtyard, laughing and joking about what she would do when she leaves. 

“I bet you’ll find the next handsome man to climb up like a tree, that’s what I would do!” Antonia teases, thrusting her hips on an invisible body. 

Macarena laughs, her cheeks hurt. 

“Hey!” Rizos says, frowning, but with a smile on her mouth.

“C’mon, Rizos, you know you have a special place in my heart” She says, laying a hand on the curly haired woman’s shoulder. 

Honey-green eyes flashes on her mind. She shudders, making Rizos frown and pass a hand on her arms, believing she was cold.

She swallows the guilt the feels on the sentiment. 

“Don’t worry, Rizos, you can always use my shoulder to cry on” Saray laughs, caressing her body seductively. 

Rizos lets out a snort, punching her softly on the arm.

“At least you’ll get rid of sleeping in the same room as Zulema every night.” Terê mutters, a small smile on her lips. 

The group starts throwing different scenarios of what they would do with their freedom, Macarena manages a crooked smile, before instantly scanning the courtyard for a particular brunette head. 

The blonde hasn’t seen her all day.

She doesn’t notices Saray watching her, a small smirk on her face, knowing exactly who she’s looking for.

— - — 

That night, she doesn’t wake up to find Zulema sitting at her bed.

— - —

Zulema wakes her up that morning with a hand on her mouth and another deep within inside her. 

Fast. Angry. 

She comes hard, her scream muffed by the brunette’s hand. She grips her hair in a fist, the waves of her orgasm riding through her body. 

Opening her eyes, breathing hard, to find dark eyes already staring at her. 

Dread pools up on her stomach when she realizes it’s morning, the gate is open, they never do it at daytime.

“Relax, rubia. Nobody heard you.” 

Zulema parts from her, taking a sit by her legs, elbows on her knees, materializing a cigarette from her pocket — cupping a hand in front of her face to lit it.

Macarena sits up, supporting her weight with her hands behind her, simply watching her.

Thinking that she must be the person that knows Zulema the most on this prison by now.

She knows how she tastes, how her eyes change color when she’s feeling angry, how her thumb always finds a place between her teeth when she’s plotting.

Also the face she makes when Macarena hits a particular spot inside her, the sound she makes when she comes, and how her eyes twitch just a little bit when Macarena turns them around in bed, deciding to be the one on top that night. 

She has every inch of Zulema's face burned in her memory. 

And that makes her angry.

“I’m leaving today, this will stop.”

“I’m aware.” She blows the smoke on her face.

Zulema looks at her, her face blank — unreadable, even for her. 

“Consider this a parting gift.”

Macarena stares at the brunette’s eyes, mentally comparing the process of understandingZulema to the process of a bomb specialist trying to figuring out which wire to cut.The blue, the green, or the red.

Sometimes, nothing happens, and you live to fight another day.

Sometimes, it blows up on your face.

“Are you waiting for a ‘thank you’?”

Zulema laughs, the sound reverberating inside her, she frowns.

“No.” She takes another drag. “But, if you start missing me, i believe the prison lets you write letters.” 

Macarena gets taken aback, feeling she picked the wrong wire.

Before she could reply, the guard appears on their prison cell.

“Macarena Ferreiro, take your stuff and follow me.” 

The blonde stands, grabbing the box she prepared the night before, meeting honey eyes one last time before leaving. 

Zulema closes her eyes, putting her hands on her forehead, letting out a sigh.

She opens them and watches the bed beside her.

Empty.

Bringing her gaze to the lit cigarette on her hand. 

Zulema doesn’t know when she had lost control of the situation, when did she let the blonde woman get inside her head. 

Taking one last drag before putting the cigarette out directly on her arm. The pain clearing her mind.

She lays down on the blonde’s bed. 

Dreading the nights ahead of her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! 
> 
> What did you guys think? Liked? Hated? Tell me, I would love to know your thoughts!
> 
> Here’s a very loose translation for Zulema’s singing: 
> 
> Yalla Tnam, Yafki Albaka. (Fall asleep. Don’t cry no more.)
> 
> Yalla Yalla, Habibi. Yalla Yalla Tnam. (Fall, fall asleep, my angel. Fall, fall asleep.)
> 
> This is a verse Zulema sings in the series, it doesn’t really exists in that format, the actress Najwa made up for the scene.
> 
> Coming up next, we continue right where we left off in chapter 4, we'll see how Macarena will act when Zulema triggers a memory that has been asleep (or not) for the past seven months.


	6. Alight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chess pieces arrive, the game starts to set and the inevitable anticipation of conquest grows heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we'll see how Macarena deals when the addiction she took seven months to take out of her system resurges. And, we meet new friends!
> 
> If you have any questions, or just want to say hello, my Tumblr is under the same surname: Killlanelle (A total of five L’s, hahah). I’ll be very happy to answer you guys!
> 
> I noticed a lot of you were questioning me about how often I update, so I would like to make it clear for you guys. I am currently dividing my time between studying and writing, so I take usually a whole week to update a new chapter!

Macarena wakes up the next morning — thankfully — to an empty bed.

The rays of sunlight beaming like a curtain over her body, the soft light slowly pulling the remains of sleep from her mind.

After her talk with Zulema, she went straight back into bed and decided to just stare at the ceiling — fuming — before anything close to slumber embraced her. 

Seven months.

She took seven months to take those sixty days in prison from her mind, to make her forget the nights, the scents, the feeling, the eyes, everything. She had accepted, sealed it, and put it in a mental box. She did a pretty good job — she thinks — the plan had been an excellent distraction. 

It was a fairly simple heist: get in, take what they came for, and get out. However, she didn’t want to commit any mistakes. She calculated everything, had everything memorized — the guard's names, the blueprint of the area, who will be inside, how long the police takes to arrive, their target — everything necessary to make sure she won’t go back to prison.

That the both of them won’t go back to prison. 

As much as she hates to admit, she’s attracted to Zulema. There would be no point in denying it after they spent nearly two months sleeping with each other almost every night. She hates that the woman who made her lose everyone she loved is the one that simply won’t get out of her head. It took one conversation with Zulema to bring everything she repressed back up again.

Macarena covers her eyes with her hands.

The days after the first time Zulema came to her bed, she started to wonder what exactly made the brunette do it in the first place. Back then, she would never expect the woman to fuck _her —_ out of everyone — but after a few months thinking about it, she thinks that there wouldn’t be anyone else. 

The longer she thought about it, the more she realized it was comfort. 

Zulema wouldn’t know how to ask for consolation, and honestly, she personally told her that she wouldn’t be the one to give her. After the death of her daughter, she noticed the brunette’s eyes were missing a spark, the only fire burning behind honey eyes being the desire for revenge. 

And after they successfully killed Barbie, the brunette had no more rats to chase, no other point to focus her anger on, or her sorrow, so she did what she does best. Fuck with someone’s life — or close to that. She lets out a bitter laugh at the memory.

She ended up giving her consolation, after all.

Zulema had crept in inside her mind before she could do anything about it. Slowly weaving her web inside her skull — night after night — until she occupied every thought. A perfect prey.

She honestly doesn’t know what she'll do with the brunette now. She knows Zulema won’t stop teasing her about this, and as much as she hates herself for admitting, she doesn’t really want her to. Every time a memory of those two months would crawl back in, she would feel her knees go weak — which became an very sloppy problem after she reconnected with Fabio. 

Macarena doesn’t love him — that part of her was buried a long time ago — but she needed him. She had no one else, and either she liked or not, he had resources. She knows that he wouldn’t help her do something like that unless he thought it was going to be a door to their life together. 

She calculated him falling in love with her, but not the way his eyes would burn with intensity every time she entered the room. He’s in too deep. He’s distracted. His thoughts are on their life together, a family, something he never could really do with his wife. 

That’s when Zulema came into her mind. 

She took a few weeks to try and find another way, but she couldn’t think of anyone else more focussed on the same goal as her. She needed the brunette. 

The morning she decided to visit her, seven months had passed. It was raining heavily, and she regretted every minute of the three hour drive it took her to get from the cottage to the prison. 

When she saw her, she took every mental power to suppress the images of that face in pure pleasure beneath her, the sounds that would come out of those lips, the smell of her dark hair. Zulema, of course, made it very easily for her, being the authentic son of a bitch that she is. 

Focusing on the anger was easy, so that’s what she did.

She delivered her message, and left. Not caring how she was going to get herself inside the infirmary in three days time. 

Seventy two hours passed slower than she imagined. The day Fabio’s men were supposed to bring Zulema in, she was walking back and forth in the cottage's living room, her eyes alternating between the floor, the door, and the clock on the wall. A knock on the door signalized her they arrived. They entered the house, carrying the limp figure in their arms. She guided them to deliver her to the room at the end of the hallway. 

Zulema was a mess. Her face looked like someone decided to dance the frevo on top of it. Her shirt with blood spots all around it. 

Macarena told them to leave, letting them go back to their business. 

She had sat herself on the chair by her bed, waiting, watching her chest rise and fall. Half of herself was telling her to finish the job, to clamp her hands on that pale neck again, and squeeze until her last breath ring softly in her ears. 

The other half kept her still until she saw honey eyes start to open again. 

With a grunt, Macarena decides it’s time to face the day ahead of her. She takes one more second to embrace the bed, building courage, before raising to her feet.

— - — 

She steps into the corridor. 

Her room is the only suite of the house, being five rooms in total. Her father’s original plan was for it to be one for each of them, and two were supposed to be a nursery. One room for her brother’s children, one for her’s. 

She pauses on the threshold for a moment, her gaze going to her right. To Zulema’s room — her room. 

The door is ajar and the bed is empty. She frowns before making her way to the kitchen. 

Fabio is by the stove, a hand towel on his shoulder — the line in between his brows telling her that he’s very dedicated on making sure the eggs don’t burn. 

On a different life, the sight would be a warming one. She would meet him, embrace him by the waist, and ask him with a kiss on his neck if he remembers the last time he made eggs for breakfast. He would laugh, and say that at least seventy percent of the burned carcass was edible. 

But on this life, she feels suffocated. 

“Good morning” She manages, testing the waters. He slept fuming last night, not truly accepting her necessity to have Zulema on the plan, but not being able to truly fight her about it. 

He glances at her before returning his attention to the eggs. 

“Good? Maybe to you.” 

She grimaces, already imagining the phrases coming up next. 

“Look, Macarena, I know this is your plan, and you want it your way, but I just can’t understand why that _woman_ — He points the spoon he was holding to the balcony — will be able to be any help.” 

His jaw is tight, the words being muffled by barely contained anger. 

She follows the invisible line to where he pointed — beyond the balcony. She can see Zulema’s back to them, by the water, simply standing. Macarena assumes she didn’t even slept last night. 

Suppressing the beginning of a concern, she turns to look back at him. 

“This is for me to worry, and for you to trust me with.” She knows that isn’t what he wanted to hear, but she doesn’t care for what he wants. His face is a confirmation. His frown managed to deepen, and his lips form a thin line of displeasure. 

Fabio turns off the stove before walking to meet her by the countertops. He puts his hands on her arms, lowering his head to her eye level, before speaking softly, his anger, she assumes, stuffed very deeply inside his ass. 

“I’m only looking after you. She tried to kill you more than once, she can do it again, and this time, there is no prison guards to save you.” 

Her lips form a tight smile, a barely turn of corners, before opening her mouth. 

“And if I remember correctly, every time she tried to kill me, I tried to kill her. One of those times, may I remind you, I almost succeeded.” 

She gives him one last stare before making her way to the woman by the water. His overprotectiveness giving her an headache. The days she feared Zulema are long gone. 

The ocean breeze hits her, making her blonde hair flow softly behind her. Her bare feet meet the sand — a feeling she learned to appreciate after years locked inside a prison cell. The smell of salt in the air easing the tension her discussion with Fabio accumulated on her neck. 

By the time she reaches Zulema, half the strain on her body was gone. 

“Did you sleep, at all?” She says, successfully scaring the brunette for the second time in the period of six hours. 

Zulema has a hand on her chest, turning to meet her gaze. She lets out a breathy laugh, before looking at the ocean again. 

“I haven’t slept in months.”

To that, Macarena says nothing. 

Zulema closes her eyes, breathing the salted air, enjoying the sweet feeling of the cold water hitting her ankles. She wasn’t lying. The morning Macarena left prison was the last day she had managed to sleep more than four hours a night. 

“The men that took you out of prison are coming to discuss the plan.” Macarena says, at last. 

Zulema chuckles. 

“I’m expecting the three musketeers at this point.”

Macarena actually gives the phrase a thought, pursing her lips.

“You know, they actually look like them.” 

The brunette looks at her with a amused grin, Macarena keeps a straight face for a couple of seconds before letting out a laugh. 

Macarena always got surprised with these moments. She never managed to predict them, exactly, always sneaking up on her. 

Her relationship with Zulema was always a battle, two forces hammering inside her head: The unaltered anger, that makes her hands itch in anticipation — desiring to grip that neck until her lips are blue. And the easiness, that she never expected. 

Half of her time, she dedicated to the anger — anger is easy. Anger kept her safe. Talks like these always made her forget the doings of the woman standing in front of her. Macarena feels her smile fade.

She crosses her arms, staring ahead.

Zulema watches the change with a thoughtful look on her face. 

“Do you know how I got myself into the infirmary?” She tests.

Macarena turns her gaze back to her — her expression is angry, but Zulema knows her long enough to see the curiosity shining in her eyes.

“Your girlfriend.” 

“No way.” 

“Yes. Made her day, I believe.” 

Macarena presses her lips into a tense line, repressing the feeling of laughter building up in her stomach.

“Bare fisted, straight on. I think she growled?” 

Laughter escapes her lips — inevitable — she puts a hand in her mouth. 

Zulema stares at her, an amused smirk on her face. 

The blonde’s smile is wide, making her eyes squint a little. Her shoulders moving with the waves of laughter. 

“I’m sure you deserved it.” 

Macarena manages, after taking a deep breath to calm herself — her cheeks hurting.

The brunette shrugs — a few punches for her freedom were a very cheap price to pay. 

“What did you say to her?” 

Zulema internally purrs in anticipation, she had spent the whole night remembering how the blonde would squirm in her fingers — she won’t be the only one playing this game.

“I just told her we slept together.” 

Macarena meets her eyes — she hadn’t noticed how close they had gotten. Somewhere through the conversation, they must have turned towards each other, mindlessly.

The blonde feels herself grow warm, the memories hammering inside her head, begging to be relived. 

She lets her gaze linger on the brunette’s lips — pulled back in a smirk — wondering if they would taste the same.

“You never answered my question.” 

She flickers her gaze back up, to honey colored eyes — glowing with a malicious glint in them. She doesn’t need to think to know what question she’s talking about.

“I thought I had.” 

“I don’t think so.” 

Zulema holds her stare, her head tilted to the side, looking at her from underneath her eyelashes. She’s loving this, Macarena assumes, pulling her hands into fists. 

Anger and repressed feelings mix inside her, turning into a hot wave — spreading from the pit of her stomach to the base of her neck.

“I told you this would stop.” 

Zulema lets out a breathy laugh before slowly bringing her lips to the blonde’s ear.

“You want this.” 

Barely a whisper, a warm gush of air caressing the shell of her ear. 

Heading down, she traces the skin of her neck with her lips — feeling the strong rhythm underneath it. She plants a kiss, light enough to make the blonde shiver.

Zulema pulls her face backwards, just enough to watch the conflict of emotions run through the blonde’s eyes. 

A losing battle.

“Macarena!” 

Ah.

Saved by the bell.

The blonde looks like she broke from a trance, blinking rapidly. 

Turning to find the origin of the sound, her eyes meet Fabio, waving his hands on the balcony of the cottage, she can see the group of men behind him — it’s time for business. 

When she turns back again, Zulema is staring at the waves.

She takes a deep breath, rearranging herself. Torn between mentally thanking the interruption and detesting it. One second longer, she would have ripped that intolerable smirk from her face, consequences be damned. 

“They arrived.” 

Macarena heads back to the cottage — not waiting to see if the brunette will follow her.

— - — 

When she steps inside the cottage, blinking the momentarily blindness caused by shift of light, she finds Fabio surrounded by other three large men.

She met them before, a few days before they took Zulema out of jail.

“Blondie!” 

Cristián yells at her, his arms open wide. An youthful smile on his face. He had an energy the other men lacked and apart from the ocasional unwanted flirting, she liked him.

She meets his open arms for a hug.

“Don’t touch my ass this time.” 

He parts with fake shock expressed on his face, a hand going to his chest.

“Me? Can you believe this, Valentín? I’m being accused of _groping_ her.” 

Valentín steps forward her way, choosing to plant a single kiss on her cheek. 

He looked a lot like his brother, the same tanned skin and dark locks, but differently from Cristían’s boyish hair and troublemaker smile, Valentín was contained — elegant. Macarena believes he sucked all the grace left inside the womb, leaving the chaotic energy entirely for Cristían. 

“I do believe it, brother. One day, you are going to get bitten.” 

Macarena chuckles at the face the younger brother makes, before turning to the final men in the room. 

“Hello, Gary.” 

Gehard — known as Gary — is built like a wardrobe, the top of her head reaching right under his chin. Out of the three of them, he was the quietest. He was the guard responsible for handling the cameras and doors from inside Cruz del Norte. 

He gives her an affectionate nod, a small smile on his face. 

“Are you well?” He asks, his voice carrying a profound tone, but calm. 

“Yes, everything went according to plan.” 

“Speaking of it, where is that foxy creature you made me and my brother pick up? Is she around?” 

Cristián asks her — briefly cranking his neck to see down the hall, a hand going to her shoulder for balance.

“Zulema. She’s by the beach.” 

“Brother, I wouldn’t even breathe at her direction if I were you. Fabio told me a few horror stories of that one.” 

Macarena flickers her eyes to the man in question, to find him already staring at her. His face still carrying the tension from their discussion before. She feels her headache starting to return — an annoying tension behind her right eye. 

“Oh, c’mon, you know how I like the fierce ones” 

She closes her fingers on his hand on her shoulder, bringing his gaze back to her. 

“Believe me when I tell you: Better not.” 

The blonde thinks to herself that out of everyone in the room, she was the most experienced person to give an opinion on the subject. After four years being Zulema’s enemy, and after two months being her — what, lover? — she would know exactly how "fierce" the brunette could be. 

And — her mind cheekily reminds her — Zulema’s attention were elsewhere. 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yes.” 

She can see his shoulders fall, an actual pout forming on his lips. She squeezes his hand once before removing it. Not feeling a single drop of pity. 

“Don’t feel sad, brother, there is still one lover to warm your bed at night.” 

Valentín laughs — a rich sound — putting his arm over his brother’s shoulder, before grabbing his wrist with the other. 

“Meet Julia, your right hand.”

The group laughs — Cristián punches his brother in the stomach, not strong enough to hurt. Valentín steps back, chuckling. 

Macarena watches their interaction with a heavy heart, remembering her own brother. Her mind briefly picturing Román by her side, discussing the absurd prices his children’s school was charging them, and she would return the sentiment, saying her own children’s was much more expensive. 

She sighs. 

This cottage was made for his children and her’s to play. They would play in the living room, with their father watching them by the couch, and her mother would be complaining in the kitchen, telling them not to run inside the house. 

She had lost so many things. 

The abrupt silence shakes her out of her reverie. She looks up to find the men staring at something behind her back. Following their gaze, she finds Zulema standing at the balcony’s threshold, her arms crossed. 

Choosing to deal with their previous interaction at another time, she takes one step closer to the brunette.

“Zulema, this is Cristián, Valentín and Gehard. They were the men responsible for taking you out of prison.” 

Zulema gives a particular stare to each, nodding her head — processing. 

“I met you before.” 

She points one single slender finger to Gehard. 

“The new guy.” 

Gary briefly passes a hand through his neck, remembering the bruise she made in there. He never saw her coming. 

“He was our inside guard. Cristián and Valentín drove you here.” 

“Cristián Dourado, a pleasure to meet you.” The man to her left bends slightly, an cheeky smile on his face. Zulema gives him an tense smile before shifting her gaze to Macarena, her eyes comically large. 

The blonde presses her lips into a straight line, swallowing the laughter. 

“Good to know we are all warmed up with each other” 

Fabio’s voice cuts through the room, making her jump. She had forgotten about him. 

His eyes are carving holes on Zulema’s face, an angry line cutting through his brows. He wouldn’t leave the woman unsupervised for a single moment, his instincts telling him to not trust her near Macarena.

He takes the plan sheets he keeps on the shelf — spreading them on the table — before supporting both his hands on the wood.

“We have important business to discuss.”

— - —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New friends! Hahahah
> 
> Well, we met Gary in chapter one, remember him?
> 
> I believe a moment inside Maca’s head was necessary, to make her feelings a bit more clear for you guys.
> 
> I decided to make a whole chapter dedicated to this moment, so next chapter we’ll see more about the plan, get to know these new character’s a little more, and maybe, a closer look on how Zulema is feeling about all this.
> 
> Tell me what you thought about it!


	7. Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew is updated and preparations begins. A call for surrender rings in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, so, a few things I’d like to make note to you guys. 
> 
> I increased the quantity of chapters that I want this fic to have — from 15 to 20 — just to give me more room to plan.
> 
> I’m having a couple of ideas of things I want to happen, and I will need more chapters to develop. Also, I want to develop their relationship better, and since 7 out of 15 is practically halfway through, I decided to make it 20 chapters.

“Doubts?” 

Fabio’s voice rings through the room.

He spent the last two hours explaining in detail what exactly Macarena spent months thinking about. Despite it being her idea, she decided if it came from an old friend’s mouth, their new guests might process the whole thing a little bit better.

“Remind me again how we’ll get inside this party?” 

Cristián asks, lifting his hand like a schooler, bringing the group's attention to his position on the couch. 

“Valentín has some contacts inside.” Fabio answers, his hands on his hips. “The gala will be in three days time, on one of the Cervantes family’s properties, not far from here.” 

He rests a finger on the paper sheet placed beside him on the table. “Macarena and I will go inside undercover, and—”

“Wait a second, Fabio.” Valentín says next to his brother, a palm raised, stopping the man in his tracks. “You mean to tell me that you are going to enter a gala, sponsored by one of the richest mob families in Spain, with that face?” 

“What’s wrong with my face?” He grunts, crossing his arms.

“It’s a cop face.” 

Cristían squints his eyes a little, judging the statement.

“He’s right. You have a cop face.” 

“Who then?” 

“Well, me, of course.” Valentín stands, gracefully. “I already know a few people inside, and we can’t deny that I have the elegancy for the part.” He gloats, brushing a few dark locks from his forehead. 

He had been a guard — once upon a time, yes — but his roots were on the other side of the law.

“And nothing says wealth like two beautiful women by my side.” Valentín says, waving softly to the women sitting by the table. 

Macarena gives him a smile. 

“No.” 

It vanishes. 

“I won’t let Zulema go inside unsupervised.” 

Fabio hisses, a harsh sound, making an uncomfortable aura settle on the room. 

The brunette makes a laughing sound, devoid of any real amusement. Resting her cheek upon her fist, she glances at the furious man in front of her.

“Afraid I’ll corrupt your girlfriend?”

If only he knew…

“No. Only making sure you won’t ruin this plan.” 

Macarena feels her headache starts to set, a hand rubbing her right temple. As much as she believes Zulema can be infuriating sometimes, Fabio's constant meddling is getting on her nerves.

“I can’t see why not.” She says at last. 

Fabio turns to stare at her, uncrossing his arms to rest his hands on the table — pressing the wood near her.

“This was not the plan.” 

“I’m aware. I made it. But Valentín is right. He knows the crowd, and if he says you getting inside will be a problem, I believe him.”

Fabio presses his lips in frustration. 

“You two, and her?”

He points a finger in Zulema’s direction. The blonde on her side being the only thing stopping her from breaking it.

“Yes.”

“Fine.” Fabio grunts — annoyed — brushing the papers in the surface, organizing them into a pile. “Then you, Valentín, will be responsible for putting the spy bug on the wife’s necklace. Macarena will pay attention to the security guards that will bring it inside.”

“And me?” Zulema asks. “Only there to look pretty?”

“You will sit quietly by Macarena’s side, and if you even breathe in the wrong direction, I’ll personally handle you.”

Zulema has a smile on her face, but Macarena can see the deadly glint in her eyes.

“You will be my backup.” The blonde says, laying a hand on the woman’s thigh from underneath the table.

Zulema briefly glances at the hand before meeting the blonde’s eyes. Macarena softly shakes her head, a hard look on her face. The message is clear.

Don’t.

“Cristían will be my eyes and ears. The security at the entrance will be heavy, but for the main staff, not so much.” 

Cristían gives him an crooked smile, hating the thought of masking his charm with waiter clothes.

“I’ll stand outside with Gehard, in case anything happens.”

The man in question silently nods from the back of the room.

“You and Macarena will leave today to colect the rest of the costumes for the gala.” Fabio tells the man, straightening himself. “This will be a recon, people, we need to see who brings the necklace, which guards, and we need to know when it will be returned.”

“Otherwise, might as well return to where we came from.” He speaks the last sentence looking directly at Zulema.

A warning.

The brunette mentally pictures hitting him with the chair. 

“Then let’s get this over with.” Macarena speaks, deciding to break the tension in the room for Fabio’s sake. 

She turns on her sit to look at the tall man standing silently by the shelf.

“Ready?”

Gary gives her a small smile, nodding, and starts making his way outside.

Macarena gives Zulema one last long look before standing, meeting the man by the door.

“Don’t kill yourselves.” She says, closing the door behind her.

Zulema mockingly blows her lips, not enjoying to be bossed around. It was one thing to receive it from the blonde, their history together built enough respect between them to not annoy her too much.

But when Fabio does it, she sees red.

Zulema rises from her chair, planning to take a bath. Her skin itching after spending the whole night on the beach.

A hand on her chest stops her.

The brunette wonders if this will be a daily thing — the wish of cutting Fabio’s hand off.

“You listen closely to what I’m going to say.” He snarls between his teeth, the droplets of spit hitting her cheeks. 

The other men in the room tense up, unmoving, but preparing to intervene. They remember how hot-headed Fabio could get, specialty when a woman is involved.

Zulema stares straight ahead, bitting the cut at the corner of her lip to prevent herself from breaking those fingers one by one.

“If you touch a single hair from Macarena’s head, I will personally make your life a living hell.” 

The brunette turns her head to stare him in the eyes, unmoved by the burning anger she finds in them. 

“Aye, aye, Captain.” She salutes him, an ironic smile on her face.

Fabio lets out a huff, giving her one last look before leaving as well.

Zulema momentarily turns to give a shrug to the men behind her, meeting blank faces staring at her. 

Letting out an annoyed sigh, she heads straight to the bathroom, longing for the hot water to distracted her from the growing frustration inside her. 

— - —

A few hours later, Macarena enters the house to find the Dourado brothers chatting on the couch. Fabio nowhere in sight.

She drops the heavy bags on the table with a grunt, closely followed by Gary — who shows much less difficulty than her, laying his with a single hand.

“Did my source attend your necessites?” 

Valentín asks her, standing to meet her and Gary around the table, his brother behind him.

“Yes, better than I expected.” She makes her way through the pile of clothes inside the bag. “This is your tux, custom made.” 

She hands him the piece, an elegant three piece suit — black — the fabric soft between her fingers. 

“You’ll look very handsome.” Gary says, making Valentín raise his eyebrows in surprise, a pleased smile on his face.

“Thank you, darling.”

“At least someone will look good. Meanwhile, I’ll have to be a waiter.” Cristían complains, receiving his costume with a pout on his lips. “All this delicacy hidden behind this? A sin, if you ask me.”

“Good thing we’re not.” Valentín replies, making his brother give him the finger.

Macarena chuckles at their interaction, tracing the hem of her own costume. “At least you won’t be trapped inside a dress.”

“Oh, come now, we both know you will look gorgeous wearing it.” He says, making the blonde give him a timid smile.

“You and She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Flirted.” Cristían says, moving his eyebrows up and down, a smirk on his face. His brother just rolls his eyes.

“Speaking of her, where is Zulema?” 

“Last I saw her, she was heading to her room, I believe.”

She nods, retrieving the brunette’s clothes — moving past Gary — and down the hallway.

Rasping the knuckles of her fingers on Zulema’s door, she waits for the muffled answer before entering. 

She finds her sitting on the chair by the window, the same one she planted herself for hours, waiting for the brunette to wake up.

Her former cellmate simply watches the waves, looking bored. 

“A gift for you.” 

Macarena places the clothes on the bed, taking a sit beside them. Zulema turns to watch her for a second, dark circles under her eyes, unmasked by the bruises. She truly looked tired, Macarena thinks to herself, not sleeping taking a toll on her. 

Finally, she rises, moving to stand by the blonde on the bed. Tracing her hands through the dress. It was an elegant party gown, black, the length reaching the ankles. The look is completed with a suit top, custom made. 

“Is that a wig?” She asks, a brow raised in question.

Macarena chuckles, nodding her head. “Yes, a ginger one. I have a black one, like your hair.” 

Zulema picks the piece, a look of distaste on her face. Accepting her fate, she puts it on, turning to look at the blonde beside her.

Macarena takes a moment to actually analyze her, head tilted to one side. The color surprisingly fits her, red locks curling softly around her jawline, making her eyes seem sharper. 

“It suits you.” 

The brunette snickers, taking it off. 

“Prison break look, perhaps?” 

“Perhaps.” 

Zulema hums, watching the blonde from underneath her eyelashes. Their earlier interaction passing through her mind. 

“Cigarette?” 

The sound pulls her out of her thoughts, her eyes focussing on the brand new cigarette pack extended in her direction. 

“I bought it on the way back.” 

Zulema smirks at her, taking one. 

Macarena stands and moves to the window, resting her hip on the windowsill, picking a cigarette with her teeth, before curving a hand in front of her face to lit it.

The brunette joins her, mirroring her position, the ocean breeze humming in her ears. She puts the cigarette in between her lips, before bringing her face closer to the blonde’s — a question. 

Macarena doesn’t hesites, nearing the flame to lit hers as well.

She takes a drag, turning to watch the waves in the distance. Zulema spent the whole night admiring them. Part of her not really believing she escaped that hell hole, the sounds of water and foam crashing in the distance resonating inside her. 

This longing made her prison days insufferable, the sadness hurting physically. Your body may be trapped inside the walls, but your mind runs, runs, runs. After the death of her daughter, her mind became a loop, reliving everything, carving a wound inside her, forcing her to see her face every time she closed her eyelids.

Zulema brings her eyes to the blonde’s profile beside her. 

She had missed Macarena in the months they spent apart, being alone in prison after everything became a burden. Admitting or not, the blonde there became a distraction, and later on, an addiction.

“I was planning to kill you.” 

Macarena looks at her.

“That night.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

The blonde has a straight face, not feeling surprised, watching the shades of honey change in the brunette’s eyes. Conflicted. Macarena briefly thinks to herself if after years of being an scorpion, Zulema started acting on instinct.

Absentminded. 

“Changed my mind.” 

Macarena lets out a bitter laugh, not believing her for one second. Yes, they slept together for months, but that doesn’t erase years of history together. Her attraction for the woman won’t make her close her eyes. 

“Because fucking me was a better alternative?” 

Zulema puts out her cigarette on the windowsill before taking a step closer to the blonde. 

Macarena tenses up at the short distance between their faces, not expecting it. The woman in front of her is simply watching, her head tilted. Two months memorizing every inch of her face did nothing to help her mask the intentions glimmering behind those eyes.

The ocean breeze is echoing in her ears, transforming her head into the perfect chapel for the drumming of her heartbeats.

Suddenly, she feels a hand on the curve of her hip — barely a touch — the warmth sending shivers up her spine, her eyes unconsciously flickering to the lips in front of her. 

A finger on her chin tilts her head up, bringing her gaze back to Zulema's. A smirk starting to form on the brunette's face. She holds her chin between her index and thumb, a fingernail tracing her bottom lip, parting them. 

The hand moves from her chin to her cheek, leaving a trail through her jaw, burying slender fingers into the blonde locks at the base of her neck.

Forming a fist.

A sigh leaves Macarena’s lips, her eyes closing on their own accord. Somewhere inside her mind, a white flag is being raised — complete surrender.

An abrupt sound makes her open them again. The front door being closed. 

Fabio.

The woman in front of her lets out an annoyed sigh, before removing her hands. Turning to rest her elbows on the windowsill. 

Macarena takes a deep breath, recomposing herself, closing her fists to prevent them from grabbing the brunette in front of her. She's getting tired of this interruptions. 

She puts the wrinkled cigarette pack beside Zulema before making her way out, the frustration burning inside her stomach.

— - —

At the end of the corridor, she finds Fabio leaving his own sets of bags on the table. 

“Where were you?” She asks, walking in his direction, her tone a little harsher than normal. 

“Now that we have three more mouths to feed” He waves in the general direction of the balcony, where the three other men are distracted, deep conversation. “I went grocery shopping.” 

He explains, pointing at the plastic bags — not noticing her frustration — and starts unpacking them. He pauses when he notices Macarena’s costume laying on the table. 

“This is your dress?” He asks, a soft smile on his face. 

She nods, crossing her arms, feeling uncomfortable in his presence after almost fucking Zulema against the windowsill. 

Fabio takes the dress in his hands, holding it away from him to see the full length. It was a red gown, made of lace, tiny jewels reflecting in the light. 

“You'll look beautiful in it.” He says at last, looking at her, a tenderness in his eyes.

“Thank you.” She manages a smile, trying to repress the flashing memories in her mind, mentally cursing the brunette. 

He gently lays the dress back down, curving his neck to leave a soft kiss on her lips, before resuming his unpacking. 

Forcing herself to act normally, she starts helping him, receiving a thankful smile from the man.

“Did you bring beer?” Cristian asks, entering the living room. 

“Why would I bring beer?”

“Are you really expecting us to just stare at the ceiling for three days?” He has his hands on his hips, a foot tapping nervously on the floor. 

“Of course not.” Fabio says, moving past Macarena to retrieve a file from the shelf. “Here. All the information you need to know about the gala, and who will be there. Enjoy.” 

Cristían takes the file with a frown, rolling his eyes before returning to his colleagues. 

Macarena stops her movements to give that idea an thought, watching Fabio return to his spot beside her. 

“Fabio?” 

“Yes?” He asks, taking a carton of milk from one of the bags.

“We should buy some beers.” 

He lays it on the table, before turning to look at her, his brows raised in question.

“I’m serious. The gala will be a risk, we both know it, we should let them have a little fun before the day comes.” 

Fabio frowns at her, weighting the pros and cons before giving her an answer. His main concern being the reckless brunette they took from prison. Alcohol would turn into gasoline in a woman like that. 

But, he thinks to himself, he really could use a day off with Macarena. Ever since Zulema arrived at the house, they haven’t stopped fighting for a single second. 

He missed her. 

“Alright.” He says, at last, making the blonde give him a smile. He loves that smile. “Tomorrow we’ll leave in the morning to buy a few beers. And maybe a couple of logs, for a fire?” 

Macarena nods at him, opening her arms to embrace him. 

It would be so easy, she thinks, to love Fabio. He had his issues, yes, but he was a good man. They would live here, fill the house with children, and she would never have to worry about anything anymore. 

But, she mentally sighs.

Life prepared a completely different path for her. A path that — day after day — is starting to lead her straight to the woman down the hallway. 

And she’s starting to think that she’s far more willing than she believes.

— - —

That night, she dreams of honey eyes and slender fingers caressing her cheeks, planting gentle kisses upon her lips, her eyes, and nose.

The hands travel down, to her neck, pressing the skin there. Soft kisses turn into hungry ones, biting her, sucking, making her shiver. Wanting more.

And then, she feels the hands start to squeeze, hard. She feels her airway cut short, the grip holding, merciless. 

She tries to claw them, her nails digging deep into pale flesh, draining blood.

Opening her eyes — when did she closed them? — she finds honey eyes become green, glowing, red lips spreading into a smirk.

She tries to scream, plead the woman to stop, that she meant no harm — when she starts seeing the figure transform.

The smirk widens, larger, into a giant snake mouth. Opening it — wide, wide, wider — until it swallows her whole.

Macarena wakes up in a jump, a scream dying in her throat. Sitting up on the bed, she presses a hand on her heart, trying to calm the drumming inside her ribcage. Cold sweat making her shirt cling to her chest. 

She turns to watch the man sleep beside her, not at all bothered by her fussing. 

With a sigh, she passes a hand through her hair.

Thinking to herself that this is only the beginning of her sleepless nights caused by the brunette.

— - —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penny for your thoughts?
> 
> So, i absolutely loathe when heists — or similar — are narrated in a single monologue, so I decided to make it like this, piece by piece. To make things clear, the heist will be consisted of two parts, the first being the gala they talked about, the second, you’ll find out later on. ;)
> 
> If you are curious about how Zulema would look in a ginger wig, I'd recommend you to search for “Lento” by Najwa, on Youtube, the look she has was my inspiration for the costume. 
> 
> Next chapter we’ll see a little fun for these guys, and perhaps (finally) a confrontation between these two? Uninterrupted? Stay tuned! :D


	8. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It rings through her mind — a deep sound — coming from within: remember, remember, remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> So, what an episode! Did you like it? Hated? I am loving their relationship, truly feels like a marriage.
> 
> The Mommy/Daddy jokes and Macarena latest revelation are giving me ideas about a sequel… Who knows? Let me know if you guys would want a sequel! ;)
> 
> And one more thing. 
> 
> I’m trying to keep my updates as constant as I can, so you guys can expect a new chapter every Monday/Tuesday!
> 
> I usually post by night — I live in Brazil, so 11pm for me is usually around 3am in the Europe area — I decided to let you guys know because I value this connection I build with you guys and this fic. The assurance of continuity is always welcome, I believe. :D

A soft breeze was coursing through Macarena’s hair as she tries to choose which book she would take home. 

Both her and Fabio rose up early that morning to drive to the nearest local market. The cottage was separate from any major city, and the closest thing they could find was a neighborhood fair — a simple circle of tents around the main square, populated majority by elderly folk, each one filled with fresh fruits, vegetables, wood, anything a country family can farm. 

She spent a couple of minutes circulating alone before finding a tent that actually sold books — they truly didn’t have much to do while they wait for the gala to come. Fabio decided to go straight to the drink’s stand, from her point of view she could see him having a hearty chat with the sellers. 

He woke her up this morning with a kiss and a smile on his face. He seemed to be having the time of his life, thriving in pure domestic bliss. His cheerfulness made a ball of worry start growing in the pit of her stomach. 

Fabio is going to become a problem.

Yes, she had reached out to him due to his resources, but after she acquire enough money to hire anyone she wished, she wouldn’t be needing him anymore. Not in the same way she needs Zulema. 

Rationally speaking, the woman is a force of nature. No matter what life threw at her, Zulema would always find a way to bend it at her will — and a life of crime certainly would throw her a lot of curve balls. 

Indifferences apart, they form an excellent team together. Zulema wasn’t afraid to act, to do whatever it takes to succeed — her aggression and energy being balanced out by Macarena’s calm and level headiness. An fucking yin yang, she thinks bitterly. 

She wouldn’t be able to keep going without her. 

Macarena accepted that the normal life Fabio wanted to have wasn’t for her anymore — prison changed her too much. She became someone that didn’t have anything else to loose. Someone just like Zulema. 

She briefly remembers the night she actually thanked the woman for teaching her how life really is. Macarena entered that prison with too much hope in her eyes, believing kindness was free, and people were incapable of doing rash things for the smallest of reasons. 

Zulema was a mentor, forcing her to see how things were — pressuring until she slipped out of her shell. She wasn’t afraid anymore. A rupture like that wasn’t something that could be undone, nor mended with white fences and suburban homes.

Fabio wishes something that she simply couldn’t be anymore. 

And honestly, she thinks reluctantly, she was for too deep into Zulema’s clutches to even consider it. She should have known that it was going to be a losing battle. 

Her eyes catches the cover of a book, successfully pulling her out of her thoughts. “ _Napoleon’s Waterloo - The Battle That Changed Everything._ ” — it said. Taking the book in her hands, she flips it to read the inscription on the back. 

“ _An historical (and French) intake on how the mighty Napoleon lost to the Prussian and English army in the battle of Waterloo, marking the end of a war and the legacy of an empire.”_

She frowns, before putting the book down. Her mind briefly conceiving the thought that if she were Napoleon, Zulema would probably be her Waterloo — the piece that changed everything. 

With a sigh, she scans the books in front of her. Most of them were about historical events, the seller, she imagines, an history fanatic — or a teacher. 

Macarena was almost giving up entirely when her eyes catches a book title. 

_“The Zahir.”_

Curious, and a little amused, she flips it to read it’s back. 

_“From Arabic, the Zahir is someone that occupies your every thought._

_The Zahir tells the story of a successful writer with a comfortable life and a stable marriage; a satisfied man._

_Until, without any reason or explanation, Esther, his wife, disappears. This inexplicable event leads him to rethink his whole life and everything he valued. Little by little, his need to understand what happened became an obsession. An obsession that takes him on a journey to find Esther ... and himself.”_

She stops for a moment, analyzing the book. 

“Are you done?” 

The sound makes her jump, unexpected. She raises her gaze to the seller in front of her, meeting annoyed eyes staring back at her. His arms were crossed, the line in between his brows aggravated by his old age — impatient. 

“You have been choosing for half an hour. Pick something, or leave.” 

Rolling her eyes, she puts the book under her arm before randomly picking the ones that didn’t have anything to do with historical facts — a total of five. 

“How much?” 

The man simply raises his hands, forming a seven with his fingers. She gives him the money before putting the books inside her bag, turning to meet with Fabio at the drink’s tent. 

“— in his trousers, and he started dancing like a maniac.” She manages to catch as she starts nearing the stand and the reunion in front of it. 

The men ahead of her erupt in laughter, a mix between roaring and wheezing — some of them, she thinks, having actual trouble breathing. 

Fabio is curved, holding his middle with a hand, and embracing the shoulders of an old man beside him with the other. The circle had a total of four elderly men — a group that probably experienced the birth of Jesus Christ. 

Macarena approaches him with a hand on his back, not wishing to interrupt. 

He turns to her instantly, dropping his hand from the old man’s shoulder, choosing to embrace her waist. 

“Folks, this is Macarena, my girlfriend. Maca, this is George, Phillip, Roberto, and Geraldo. They sell the drinks, and all of them are old soldiers. They were telling me a few of their war stories.” 

Macarena gives the group a tense smile, feeling uncomfortable under the label. 

“Ain’t you a pretty thing. You one lucky man, Fabio.” The man to her left says — Phillip, she guesses — raising his beer in praise.

“Sure is, I remember how my Greta was as pretty as you. I couldn’t keep my hands off her.” The one beside Fabio laughs, giving him a punch in the shoulder.

She just wants to leave. 

“Fabio, we need to go.” Macarena manages, whispering through her forced smile. 

“Right. Nice meeting all of you, thank you for the beers. Roberto, good luck with the wife.” He gives them an wave, receiving an choir of farewells. With a hand on her waist, he guides her to the direction of their car, carrying the bag filled with drinks on his shoulder. 

“Have you found the wood for the fire?” 

“Yes, it’s already in the trunk.” She must had been really involved in those books to not have notice it. “I bought mostly beer, but there is a bottle or two of liquor for you, if you prefer.” 

Macarena gives him a soft smile as she opens the van’s door. He drops the heavy bag in the back seat, before entering the van. With a turn of keys, the engine roars alive. 

She puts her own set of bags on her lap before turning to watch the rural landscape pass outside the window.

Her thoughts returning to a particular book, and a brunette that shared the same name. 

— - —

They enter the house to find Gary already by the kitchen, heating up a kettle for a pot of coffee — rays of light entering through the balcony, giving the room a soft golden glow.

“Ah, just who I was expecting. Gary, help me grab the logs from the trunk.” Fabio asks, lowering his bags by the door.

The man in question simply nods — asking with a look for Macarena to assume what he was doing, she gives him a smile in response. Both of them leave as she approaches the stove, dropping her own bags on the floor, taking the kettle in her hands, she starts dripping the water into the coffee filter.

“Good morning.” 

Macarena turns to find Cristían walking down the hallway — mid yawn.

“Good morning. Slept well?” 

“Like a rock. Me and the guys spent the whole night talking. Did you know Gary was military?” The man folds his arms on the countertop, resting his chin in them.

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“It explains a lot, right? He being all quiet and stuff.” Macarena shrugs, she never truly stopped to think about the man before. 

“Fabio and I went out this morning. I decided to entertain your idea.” 

Cristian lifts his head, a wide grin on his face.

“For real?” 

“Yes.” 

He raises a fist in the air in triumph, before start doing a little dance, she watches him with an amused smile on her face — he truly had an different energy inside him. He only stops when the two other men enter the kitchen holding heavy logs in between their hands.

“Move, Cristían.” 

Fabio grunts, his face red from effort. Gary, on the other hand, looked like he was simply carrying a pack of grapes — effortless. They pass through them and head straight to the balcony, dropping the wood in the sand. 

“And a fire?!” Cristían exclaims, turning to Macarena. She simply nods, shrugging. Why not, right? 

He shakes his shoulders one more time before heading out to assist the men assemble the pieces of wood into anything that resembles a small bonfire. Macarena stays put, closing the coffee pot lid, wondering what she’ll make for everyone’s breakfast. 

She opens up the fridge, deciding that she can’t go wrong with pancakes. Grabbing a few ingredients and a bowl, she starts working the batter, wondering to herself about the last time she actually made the recipe. 

Four years ago, she guesses, probably for Símon, on one of the many times they secretly met each other — blinded by what she had thought was love. Macarena mentally rolls her eyes.

She never had much luck with the feeling.

After the Símon tragedy, there was Rizos, who she had held on like a life boat, using the brunette’s passion as protection. They had gotten along much better after a couple of years, the woman had a special place in her heart, but it wasn't love, not the romantic kind, at least.

Fabio was — is — in love with the domestic illusion she can bring him, not her, specifically, and then again, she’s using it in her favor — her feelings for the man had died the moment she realized he needed a lost cause to thrive. 

And now…

Macarena lets out a sigh, resting the spatula in the corner of the bowl, finishing the batter. She heads to the stove, turning it on and putting a pan on top of the flame — her mind stubbornly entertaining the thought of where she would fit Zulema in that equation.

The sounds of footsteps brings her gaze to the hallway, where she finds the very focus of her thoughts making her way into the kitchen. 

“Busy morning?” Zulema asks, pointing a thumb at the men working beyond the balcony. Macarena briefly nods at her before resuming what she was doing, spooning a thin layer of batter into the pan, waiting for bubbles to form before flipping it. 

“Cristían suggested we relaxed a little, so we decided to make a bonfire.” 

The brunette hums, pursing her lips, before laying down on top of the countertop, nesting her head on her folded arms, facing the blonde on the stove. Macarena turns off the fire before turning to her, cleaning her hands on a kitchen towel.

“I may have something that might interest you.” 

Zulema raises her eyebrows, watching the blonde bend over a bag on the floor. Macarena straightens herself with a couple of books on her arm — purposely leaving a particular piece of work untouched at the bottom of her purse. 

“I know you must be as bored as me, and if I recall correctly, you do have a passion for reading, so, pick one.” She asks, spreading the books over the surface of the kitchen countertop. 

Zulema rises to her elbows, scanning each one that has been laid out in front of her, cranking her head to read the covers. Slender fingers curve on the one closest to Macarena, the choice making the blonde raise her eyebrows. 

“Frankenstein? Really?” 

The brunette simply shrugs, after spending years reading books that held knowledge to keep her alive — she would never had thought reading about chickens would be essential — a little fictional horror wouldn't hurt.

“The book was made for a competition. No one actually believed she could write anything worth reading.” Zulema starts, raising her gaze to meet the blonde’s. 

“But — the brunette exclaims, pointing out a finger — she turned her dreams into the scariest story they had ever seen, politely telling all of them to stuff their arrogance in the fucking ass.” 

Zulema finishes with an amused smile, watching the brunette through her eyelashes. The blonde is surprised, she had never given much thought about the story before — merely something her father used to read for her and her brother when they were small. 

“So the story is basically a middle finger?” Macarena asks, raising a brow.

“Precisely.” Zulema confirms, giving her a wink before rising from her position, heading for the couch with the book under her arm. The blonde watches as she lays herself down, crossing her legs at the ankles, supporting the book on her stomach.

Macarena lets out a soft laugh before resuming what she was doing, entertained by the idea that the literary version of a "fuck you" would be Zulema’s choice of reading for the day. 

— - —

They decided to wait until the sun went down to light the fire. 

Macarena sat quietly to herself, watching the flames blaze ahead of her, little golden particles floating above to meet the stars. 

The scene reminding her of the night the prison riot happened, the night Sole died. She had sat in front of a fire just like this — but instead of that dried old wood burning, the flames had been consuming the body of her friend. 

She feels her gaze go to the woman next to her. Zulema was hunched low on the beach chair beside her, legs thrown carelessly in front of her, a beer in her hand, eying the flames as well. 

Zulema was there that night, when they burned Sole. After killing Barbie, the brunette’s eyes seemed lost, merely a shadow of the intensity that once was. 

She hasn’t forgotten how she had sang almost every night after it. The moment she realized the reason behind it was Fátima, she didn’t touch the subject again. Even though she didn’t had a chance to meet her child — the brunette herself being the reason — she could understand her pain. 

Sensing her look on her, the woman in question turns to meet her gaze, keen eyes reflecting the flames, turning honey into gold. The uneven light made her bruises look darker, her cheekbones sharper, aggravating the piercing look on her face.

Zulema holds her stare, a smirk starting to form on her lips — the blonde watches the movement, hypnotized, wondering if kissing them would taste like her beer or like the blood from her cut. 

“— and then, Cristían turns to me and says: But _they_ forced me!” Valentín wheezes, making the men around him laugh, startling Macarena — breaking their stare match. 

Macarena turns to watch the men in front of her, giving them a small smile, disguising the fact that she had not been paying attention to the conversation in a while. 

“And that’s what got you guys expelled? I thought it had been because Cristían had flirted with the director.” Fabio laughs, taking a sip from his beer.

“I did! But she actually liked it! I still think she was jealous of my close relationship with the girls.” 

“And it ended up with us being expelled.” Valentín says, shaking softly his head at his brother’s behaviors. 

“Hey, don’t go telling me that doesn’t happen often, that’s how you two meet, right? You being her guard?” Cristían asks, pointing his beer at her and Fabio’s direction. 

“Something like that. I was her guard while she was in prison, we had a relationship for a couple of months before we fell apart.” Fabio explains, a hand going to the nape of his neck. 

“We only found each other again a month ago.” He finishes, turning to give Macarena a warm smile, his hand descending to meet her thigh with a soft squeeze. 

She makes an effort to retribute the sentiment, her lips forming a grin, internally hoping it’s wide enough to make him believe her. When he sits up to give her a kiss, she lets out a sigh — he does. 

A snort makes her turn her head to meet honey eyes once again, shinning with mirth. Zulema could see right through her facade, the blonde’s expressions were imprinted like pages into her memory — forming a book that she could flip through as she wishes. 

Macarena gives her a hard look — unamused — before staring ahead again, frustrated at how easily the brunette could read her. 

The men in front of her had entered yet another topic she had no interest in, she lets her back slide through the chair, growing bored. And annoyingly sober. She had refused when they offered her a beer — she always hated the taste. 

She sits back up when her mind flashes a memory.

“Fabio?” 

“Yes?” He half turns to her, paying attention to the vivid imitation Cristían was making of one of his mother-in-laws. 

“Where did you put the liquor you bought?” 

“In the fridge, like the beers, but on the lower shelf, next to the pizza’s leftovers.” 

Nodding, she rises from her seat, heading back inside.

Opening the fridge, she knees down to look for the bottle. They didn’t have much to occupy it, really, Fabio had bought only the essential, not much luxury in criminal life — what they couldn’t make, they would usually order from the nearest village. 

Her eyes find the liquor — grabbing a hold of the neck, she pulls, turning it to read the logo. Smirnoff. Feeling pleased, she straightens herself back up.

“Escaping us?” 

Macarena lets out a yelp, surprised, clutching the bottle to her chest. She turns to find Cristían grinning at her, resting his elbows at the countertop. 

“Sorry.” He says, sounding the exact opposite. “I only came to grab a few more beers, you were in the way.” 

“Oh, right.” Macarena lowers the bottle, moving away from the fridge. The man squeezes through her, bending to fill his arms with the beverages. 

The blonde rests the vodka on the countertop, wondering if she will drink it raw or actually bother to try and make a cocktail. It can’t be that hard.

“Are you planning to make a drink?” Cristian asks, raising a brow. 

“Actually, I was thinking about putting a single olive in a glass, pretend it’s a martini.” 

Cristian looks like he had been slapped. 

“What? No way.” He complains, putting the beers on the countertop as well, he turns to the fridge once again, grabbing a few ingredients.

“I served two years as a bartender after I got me and my brother expelled from guard duty.” He says, moving through the kitchen, taking a few tools for the cocktail. “I won’t let you drink that offense you’re calling a martini.”

His hands starts moving naturally — cutting, dripping, shaking, mixing — Macarena choses to simply watch, a soft smile on her face. In a minute, he finishes, presenting her a perfect dirty martini, garnished with three olives in a toothpick, a proud smile on his face.

“Okay, i’m impressed.” She says after taking a sip, it was delicious. “Now I know how you pick up your woman.” 

Cristian lets out a laugh. 

“You got me.” He gives her a wink, filling his arms once again with the beers. “Now I must take my leave, I left the men thirsty for long enough. Enjoy the drink.” 

He smirks at her one last time, before heading out, taking his seat around the bonfire. Macarena takes one more sip from her drink, humming at the taste, before following.

— - —

With one final grunt, Fabio rolls to the side, instantly falling asleep.

Macarena lies beside him, wide awake, feeling the room sway a little, her head a couple of pounds heavier — Cristían had insisted in making her other four martinis.

Sitting up in bed, slowly, she turns to watch the man snore beside her. After his seventh beer, he had started getting handsy, gripping her thighs, kissing her neck. Macarena had drank every drop of alcohol with renewed vigor each time his lips would get close to her — his intentions very clear.

She shifts uncomfortably, the throbbing in between her legs a little painful.

Macarena won’t be able to get any sleep like this — tomorrow was reserved for the final preparations of the gala, the blonde needed to be at full focus. 

Internally groaning, she swings her legs off the bed, rising to her feet with a hand on the nightstand, her balance a little off-center.

One more drink will certainly do the job perfectly. 

Macarena sluggishly puts on a robe before making her way out, her hand trailing at walls of the corridor, not really bothering to turn on the lights — the golden dying flames from the bonfire giving the room a low glow. 

Laughter makes her halt.

Macarena raises her eyes to find Zulema in the kitchen, elbows rested on the countertop, peeling an apple with a knife — a smirk on her face.

The blonde visually sighs, mentally counting to ten before heading to the fridge. 

“Trouble sleeping?” The brunette asks, cutting a piece of the fruit with the knife and bringing it to her mouth. Macarena rests the bottle of vodka beside her, putting a double shot in a cup — feeling instantly sober in the woman’s presence.

“Just needed a little help.” She says, before taking the whole content in a single gulp. The vodka burns her lips, making her mouth feel numb. That will have to make due, Cristían wasn’t around to brew her another martini. 

Putting back the bottle inside the fridge, she starts making her way back to the bedroom, only to have her movements halted by a hand on her chest. Macarena feels a wave of anger rise up her spine — fueled like gasoline with the alcohol in her system.

Before she could do anything about it, the hand hastily pushes her against the countertop, forcing her to bend slightly backwards — the marble angrily pressing against her lower back. Zulema has her head thrown back, watching her from underneath her eyelashes. 

She grew tired of playing games. 

Macarena feels herself grow quiet, her gaze meeting the brunette’s in front of her. She holds it, feeling her heartbeat drumming inside her head — the red hot anger melting into repressed longing — she closes her fists on the marble behind her.

She briefly wonders if every choice she made in the last couple of days has led her to this moment, the calm before the storm, the quiet before surrender.

Zulema watches her, admiring. The blonde’s chest is heaving underneath her palm, her thumb swoops a shallow arch, suggestive, blazing through the thin material of Macarena’s robe — she hears a gasp.

With a smirk, the brunette lets her hand travel down, descending the blonde’s chest — leaving a warm trail through her breast, her ribs, until it reaches the curve of her hip, gripping hard.

Zulema takes a step, biding their hips together, successfully trapping her against the countertop. 

The blonde feels her mind sink into a drunken haze, intoxicated, swimming into the memories — feeling her control slip with every beat of her pulse. 

Macarena bends forward to rest her forehead on the brunette’s shoulder, closing her eyes. She should fell bad about losing — the woman had brought so much chaos into her life, made her lose so much — but she can’t bring herself to. 

Letting out a sigh, she pulls her head back to watch the woman in front of her, finding honey eyes already staring at her. 

“Do you know what’s the worse?” 

Zulema lifts a brow, raising a hand to graze her fingers on the blonde’s cheek — she brings her face close, whispering directly to Macarena’s lips.

“Tell me.” 

“I missed you.” 

For just a fleeting second, ever so subtly, Zulema smiles, the kind of smile you could miss if you blinked — before crashing their lips together. 

Macarena hears herself moan, bringing her hands to grip the brunette’s hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, fast and hungry, an aftermath of months of depravation.

She had tried so hard to convince herself she wasn’t enjoying this as much as she was, but gravitating into Zulema’s orbit was simply something she could not control, merely watch it unfold in front of your eyes — helplessly falling.

Slender fingers start leaving a warm path on her jaw, burying themselves deep into blonde locks, forming a fist — uninterrupted this time — Zulema pulls, tasting Macarena’s moans inside her mouth.

The hand on her hip leaves to untangle the knot on her robe, easily coming undone. Cold hands meet the bare skin of her abdomen, making shivers go up her spine and hot wet heat accumulate in between her thighs. 

Zulema roams her body shamelessly — every inch already burned in her memory — pressing her waist, clawing her back, feeling her breasts. 

With a pull from her fist, she yanks Macarena’s head backwards, making the blonde let out a hitched gasp — opening her eyes to find Zulema’s gaze tracing her face. 

There was something working behind Zulema’s eyes, inside of her brain. Macarena could count on her fingers how many times she had actually seen that shade of honey staring back at her, always as fast as thunder, it would usually be gone in a wink.

But now, she could see it clearly.

Tenderness. 

It was a tricky ride to be the center of Zulema’s attention, always an eternal battle of forces. The lover inside the enemy, the enemy inside the lover, which one is real. Macarena wonders when she started needing it to be both. 

The feeling of lips on her neck makes her close her eyes once again, letting out a deep sigh. Zulema trails her mouth down the skin of her neck, feeling the hammering heartbeats on her tongue, sucking, before biting down — hard — making Macarena let out a groan, her hips grinding by their own accord. 

Her breath hitches when she feels the hand on her breast start gliding down her stomach, past her navel, curving down in between her thighs, before impatiently sliding two fingers inside her.

Macarena muffles her scream with a bite on the brunette’s shoulders, her hands leaving the dark locks to roam underneath the woman’s shirt, leaving nails marks down her spine, bringing her closer. 

The blonde rests her cheek on Zulema’s neck, arms embracing her shoulders, her hips rocking with each thrust, feeling her orgasm rapidly approaching. 

Suddenly, Macarena lets out a deep moan, tightening the embrace, feeling the red hot waves of delirious pleasure course through her body, expanding, sending her mind into a fogged haze. 

With a sigh, her entire body collapses, twitching. Zulema curls an arm around the blonde’s waist, supporting her weight, cleaning the other hand on the back of her jeans. 

When she feels her soul return to her body, Macarena straightens herself back up, raising her head to find the brunette’s gaze — dropping her arms from her shoulders, choosing to place both her hands on the woman’s cheeks. 

Zulema had a smirk on her face, but her eyes were uncharacteristically soft, she never understood what to do when she received those eyes, so she decides not to, crashing their lips once again — angry.

She parts from the brunette with a push, turning to make her way down the hallway, not bothering to close her robe back up — she doesn’t need to see to know Zulema is following her. 

Reaching the room, she pauses with a hand on the doorknob, hesitating, her mind briefly picturing the image of a cliff’s edge — once you cross, there is no return. 

When warm lips kisses her neck from behind, she feels her hand turn, opening the door. Crossing the threshold, she waits until the woman enters before softly closing it behind her.

Willingly falling into Zulema’s pull.

— - — 

A few hours later, Macarena awakes with a start, she had not planned to fall asleep. 

She sits up on the bed, wide eyes searching beyond the window — letting out a sigh when she finds the sun hasn’t went up yet. 

Macarena couldn’t let Fabio wake up to an empty bed. 

Passing a hand through her hair, she turns her head to watch the woman beside her. They had been in this situation before, but she never had seen the brunette fall asleep beside her — back in prison, she always managed to return to her own bed.

Zulema was lying belly down, dark locks thrown carelessly on the pillow, facing the blonde. She looked completely relaxed, no furrow in her brow, no glimmer of malicious delight in her eyes — such a rare sight that Macarena felt afraid of blinking and missing a single second. 

Macarena raises a hand to trace the slope of her back with the tip fingertips, barely a touch. 

There would be no point in lying to herself now.

She was starting to fall for Zulema.

Letting out a sigh, she caresses the skin one more time — softly tracing the angry red lines her nails left there earlier that night — before rising to her feet, collecting her robe from the floor, putting it on.

She gives Zulema one last look, before softly closing the door behind her.

— - —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you guys think? Your comments make my day!
> 
> Finally! Uninterrupted! Hahaha, like I promised! ;D
> 
> Also, since the beginning of this fan fiction I wanted a part where I explained to you guys why I named it Waterloo. Now you guys know. Waterloo was the place Napoleon lost. Truly lost. And — apart from the fact that I’m a Mamma Mia fan — I wanted to make this fic about this, about how Macarena will find her Waterloo in Zulema, how she will loose the battle, call for surrender, and finally, give in to the feeling and chaos that it is to be Zulema's lover. 
> 
> Also, in my mind, Macarena would be the first to accept her feelings for Zulema, the brunette herself being a little more complicated to admit it, don’t you think?
> 
> Next chapter we’ll see the beginning of their preparations for the gala, and how will these two deal with themselves after that steamy encounter! Stay tuned! ;)


	9. Spellbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward, one step backwards — not a progress, not a dance, a seduction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dearests! 
> 
> First of all, I believe I own everyone an apology for the delay, this chapter ended up much harder than I expected, halfway through I had to erase everything and redo because I had changed my mind, delaying it even more.
> 
> And I own another apology because I will correct myself and say that I will not have an set date to post anymore, having a seven day period to write every chapter is starting to become chore-like, taking out the joy of writing them, and I believe some chapters need a little more time than that (like this one) so i’m being unfair to you guys and the story to take the necessary time with some, and rushing everything with others. 
> 
> I will let my Tumblr inbox open (it’s also killlanelle) for any questions about the fic’s progress, if anyone wishes to give me an “hello, where the hell is the new chap???” please, feel free to do it, I won’t feel annoyed, and I will gladly tell you how much of the fic I have written so far and will be able to give you a guess of when I’ll be updating.
> 
> I can’t promise to keep the usual Monday/Tuesday pattern, but I can tell you that I will try my best to be as consistent as possible, taking a week or two to post every chapter.
> 
> In this chap, we’ll see a little more about what Zulema is thinking, how Maca is feeling, and a little insight how this gala will play off.  
> Hope you enjoy it!

Macarena watches the man in front of her with a ball of guilt sinking into her stomach. 

She had found him working silently to himself on their van, half of his body thrown over the engine, probably making sure it was in working order before they use it. 

Not wishing to attract his attention to herself just yet, she had approached the scene quietly, choosing to rest her shoulder by the front door’s threshold, crossing her arms to protect herself from the morning chill. 

She had woke up that morning to an empty bed. 

The minute she opened her eyes she felt like something had shifted inside her —her mind still fogged with sleep — she had spent a couple of minutes trying to figure out what was missing, only to realize that nothing was. 

It was, in fact, a feeling of wholeness. 

Like a rock that is gradually degraded by the tide, Macarena slowly fell into Zulema’s clutches, dissolving — wave after wave, day after day — sinking deeper into her ocean.

Macarena briefly wonders if that’s how drug addicts feel about themselves — reluctant to admit defeat, but entirely incapable of letting go. She ended up needing Zulema in more ways than one. 

She lets out a sigh before start making her way towards him, contouring the van to meet him at the open hood. 

Fabio takes a second to notice her, deep in concentration — his eyes instantly turning soft the second he does, a smile forming on his lips. She feels the ball of guilt sink further. 

“Good morning, princess.” He says, taking the towel on his shoulder to clean his greasy hands. 

“Good morning.” She replies, tightening her hold on her arms, feeling uncomfortable in his presence. He certainly looked happy, as most men do after finally getting what they want — all glowing eyes and cheeky smile. She wonders if he can see the same aura on her, if Zulema’s mark on her were as visible on the outside as she feels on the inside.

“I enjoyed our time together last night.” Fabio has a smirk on his face while he caresses both of her arms with his now cleaned hands, closing the space between them. At this distance, she can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, an result of working for hours in front of a mechanical engine. 

Macarena’s mind is filled with the wrong memories at his words — honey eyes and pale skin under her palms, soft moans reaching her ears, slender fingers coursing through her robe, making her shiver — she raises a hand to his chest to ground herself at the present, momentarily closing her eyes.

“I enjoyed it too.” She says, blinking her eyes open, not exactly referring to the same thing as him. Forcing a smile upon her lips, wide enough to fool him, she mentally kicks herself for not feeling bad about lying to him — the effervescent guilt building up in her stomach reserved entirely to her lack of remorse. 

“We should do it more times, like we used to, remember?” He grins, referring to the times they would grope each other at any given surface back in prison. There would be a time his charming smile would make her knees go weak, she wouldn’t hesitate in saying yes. Now, she simply holds back a shudder. 

“Maybe we should focus on the plan first.” Macarena says, softly pushing his chest to force a little distance between them.

His smile fades, a frown occupying its place. Fabio lets out a deep sigh before removing his hands from her shoulders.

“I’m getting tired of all this, Macarena. I barely had a moment with you this week, always something would come up, or we would spent time fighting about that goddam woman.” He grunts, pointing an hand in the general direction of Zulema’s room.

“Our romantic life has been shit. We only had sex once, last night, because Cristían suggested we had a break.”

“Fabio, I understand you don’t deal well with Zulema here—”

“No. What I'm not dealing well is how you always manages to keep your distance from me.” 

Macarena closes her mouth, teeth clacking soundly, taken aback.

“I don’t—”

“Oh c’mon, Macarena. Don’t lie to me.” 

She pauses for a second to study his face with her gaze, reading him. His arms had fallen limply to his side, defeated, and instead of finding anger in his eyes, she finds hurt — big brown eyes begging her to do exactly that: Lie. 

So that’s what she does.

“All this will mean nothing after we finish this, right? It will be only us, together. An opportunity to start over, start a family?” 

Macarena holds his face in between her hands, meeting his eyes, her smile leaking everything he needs to see. She holds her breath for a second, waiting anxiously for his response. 

Fabio stares at her for a heartbeat before bending to embrace her, holding tight on her waist, his face cocooned on her neck. She exhales, relieved — today was not the day to be fighting about this, the gala was tomorrow, she can’t have him fussing about it on it’s eve. 

Closing her arms on his back, she softly brushes her hands up and down, swallowing down the queasiness rising up her throat.

“It will all be over soon.” Macarena whispers to his ear, speaking mostly to herself. 

She doesn’t know for how long she can keep fooling him. Along the months after leaving prison, Macarena had spent every waking moment trying to repress any existent memory she could about Zulema, brewing the anger like weeds, letting it grow inside her heart.

But now…

The gates of hell are wide open — ablaze — and she’s very willingly running to hug the devil herself, consequences be damned.

Macarena closes her eyes with a sigh, making a silent prayer, sincerely hoping that all this situation doesn’t come back to bite her in the ass. 

— - —

“Will you wake everybody up while I organize the room?” 

Fabio asks her, retrieving a chair from the table with an arm, sorting it beside the couch — planning to form a semi-circle so everyone could easily see him as he explains the overview of the plan.

After their talk, she decided to kill two birds with one stone and call for one last briefing to keep everyone’s memories fresh for tomorrow. The gala was being sponsored by some really dangerous people, and any slip could easily make the whole plan go south — she needed the whole group on their toes. Also, she could use a little breathing room from Fabio’s constant need to have her close. 

Macarena feels herself pause at his question, long enough to make Fabio turn to her again, a brow raised in question — her mind running with the implications of such task. She had not thought long enough with suggesting a meeting this early, facing Zulema in the morning after their night together was not something she’s exactly used to.

She rapidly blinks, shaking her head, raising a smile to Fabio’s questionable look. “Right, sure.” 

Rising from her seat on the couch, she starts heading towards the hallway, her hands clammy inside a fist.

After leaving the woman’s bedroom, Macarena had spent countless hours wide awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling her mind rock like a ship during a storm — the memories entering like crashing waves, violently, destroying everything in its path.

She was growing tired of fighting the tide, of staying afloat — maybe it’s time to fall headfirst into the water.

Reaching the first door, she softly rasps her knuckles on the wood, listening to the muted sounds of movement behind it.

“Good morning, darling.” Valentín greets her, opening the door with a smile, his hands tying a knot on his robe. 

“Good morning, Valentín. Fabio is calling everyone for a meeting.” 

“Dammit, Fabio, shall I only rest when I’m dead?” Valentín exclaims, cranking his neck towards the living room, receiving a distant grunt in response. 

Macarena gives him a smile, chuckling at his rolling eyes. 

“Well, orders are orders, am I right? Go wake up the others, leave the little brat to me.” He says, waving a hand at her, stepping out of his room to bang on his brother’s door.

“Valentín, do you know how long do I need to sleep to reach this apex of beauty?” Macarena hears Cristían shout from behind her as she raises a hand to knock on Gary’s door. It opens instantly — the man, apparently, had already been awake. 

“Good morning, Gary. Meeting in ten.” 

He gives her a soft smile, nodding, before heading to the living room, only pausing briefly to give an amused look at Cristian’s distressed appearance. 

“Gehard, I swear to God, I think you’re a psychopath.” Cristían exclaims, closing his own door behind him “How can you be up already? I saw you drink _fifteen_ beers!” He shouts, turning to follow the man to the living room, his brother right behind him. 

Leaving her to stand alone on the hallway.

Macarena turns her head to the final door, a nervous chill settling on her stomach. She had been standing on that very same spot only a few hours ago, barely clothed, with the ghost of Zulema’s fingers still lingering in between her legs.

Back in prison, everything felt pretty clear: They would lay down, wait for the lights to go off, then she would feel the brunette’s weight dip the bed, slender fingers coursing through the sheets. In the morning after, they wouldn’t speak about it, like nothing happened.

Now, she doesn’t know what to expect.

Macarena takes a deep breath before taking a step to stand right in front of Zulema’s door, her knuckles hovering a couple of inches above the dark wood, hesitating for a heartbeat before knocking. 

A couple of seconds pass before she tries again, receiving no response. Frowning, Macarena briefly looks over her shoulder, tuning her hearing to the chatting men on the living room. After making sure none of them will miss her for a couple of minutes, she turns the doorknob, opening the heavy door.

Raising her gaze to the bed, she finds Zulema in the exact same position she left her: Laying belly down, dark locks thrown carelessly on the pillow — sound asleep.

Macarena feels her heart skip a beat, her breath hitching. 

It was so much different to see this scene in bright daylight, with the sunlight entering through the window in a golden curtain, making the pale skin give off a warm glow — everything suddenly feels a little more real, not something she could stuff inside a mental box for months and hope for the sweet touch of oblivion.

Zulema was here, they were free, and — despite her multiple attempts — the growing affection she felt for the woman was going no where.

Letting out a sigh, Macarena closes the door behind her, the soft thud sounding ironic to her ears. Taking a heavy breath, she starts making her way to the sleeping brunette, feeling her heart jump with every step.

Reaching the bed, she carefully sits beside the sleeping woman, the soft sheets underneath her palm reminding her of the sensation of spending a whole night rolling in them with Zulema. Watching her now, up close, she realizes she had jumped into that water a long time ago —and she was deeper than she had thought.

Zulema had her back turned towards her, face buried on the pillow, angry red lines marking her skin. The blonde softly traces one with a digit — irresistible — following its path down the length of her back, fingers reaching the white sheets draped over the curve of her backside. 

Over the course of two months, Macarena had started memorizing every inch of her skin, intuitively — every tattoo, every spot, every scar — she had not noticed she still remembered everything until last night, when she greeted every mark with a kiss.

Macarena briefly wonders how she can feel so much hate and affection for a single person.

Spreading her fingers, she trails her hand up the woman’s back, caressing the angry lines with her palm — reaching her shoulder, she softly shakes the brunette.

“Zulema.”

Her reaction is immediate, she wakes up with a jump, rapidly rising to her elbows, keen eyes — instantly alert — searching her surroundings. 

“It’s just me. We have a meeting in a couple of minutes.” 

When  Zulema’s gaze finds her own, the blonde can see her body instantly relaxing, wide eyes returning to their original shape. The woman lets out a sigh before giving her a simple nod.

“You slept here, rubia?” Zulema asks, passing a hand through her face, willing the sleepiness away. After years of sleeping in a prison cell, having someone shaking you awake was not exactly a good sign — she thinks, feeling the swift pace of her heart at the base of her throat.

“No. I woke up early to return to my own room.”

The brunette hums, turning sideways to face the blonde, resting her chin on a closed fist, the hand on her shoulder lifting to rest on top of the other on the blonde’s lap.

“Fabiorito noticed your midnight escape?” 

Macarena lets out a snort at the woman’s choice of words.

“No.” 

Zulema nods, pursing her lips, honey eyes flashing with emotion — the blonde can’t exactly tell which — before she opens her mouth. 

“Why keep a relationship with him?” She asks, a small line forming between her brows, her eyes squinting a little.

“As opposed to what, one with you?” Macarena replies, her voice carries an ironic sound, lips pulled back into a incredulous smile, despite the growing feelings she has for the woman, the thought of her and Zulema in a relationship is not exactly something she can picture easily.

“No? Like Bonnie and Clyde?” Zulema asks, her fingers briefly forming a make-shift gun, pointing two fingers towards the blonde, a thumb stretched up.

Macarena raises a brow. “Who’s Bonnie? Me?” She asks, a finger curling to point at herself.

Zulema simply shrugs in response, casually, before letting her hand fall back on the bed.

Macarena feels a laugh build up her stomach, bubbling up her throat, until it finally leaves her lips with an surprised sound — incredulous. 

It was tricky situation, this thing they created. Not exactly enemies, not exactly lovers, one inside the other, mixing into one big confusing grey area that felt almost like stepping on thin ice. 

Macarena hasn’t forgotten what the woman had done, everything she lost because of her. She will forever carry the weight of her loved ones behind her back, an ever present cross.

Falling for Zulema wasn’t a choice she made, more like something that happened despite of it, continuously — passing through her walls like a cannon, hitting her straight to her chest, leaving a round purple mark. 

You can’t love Zulema without acquiring a couple of scars.

Letting out a sigh, the blonde pulls herself out of her thoughts, thinking she stayed for too long already, someone — Fabio — will start missing her by now. 

“We need him for now. The other men won’t follow the plan without Fabio, and he won’t follow it without thinking its for our life together.” She says, finally, suddenly feeling really tired — a growing headache forming behind her right eye, she raises a hand to press on her temple in small circles, willing it to go away.

Giving the woman a tight smile, Macarena raises herself to her feet, a hand passing through her hair, feeling the room grow smaller with every passing second.

“You better get dressed, the meeting will start in a couple of minutes.” She tells the woman, before turning and heading out, the door's soft thud echoing through the bedroom. 

Zulema had watched the whole scene with a thumb pressing between her teeth.

She never could pin point exactly what the rubia was thinking, her expressions were as clear as water, but the meaning behind them turbid like blood. 

Even before that night, she knew the blonde and her had a bond that ran deeper than anger. 

Hate has always was been the best motivator, driving them together, little by little, like a rope, slowly twirling around them, biding them, wrapping up their bodies tightly — leaving no space left to breathe, and at this distance, a kiss is only a head-tilt away. 

Fate has always been a bitch to the both of them, trapping them in this never ending dance — one pushes, the other pulls, a gun to the head here, a rope to the neck there. Making Macarena hers was simply taking the next step.

That night, she had wanted to kill her. 

After knowing Macarena was leaving, something deep inside her shifted, burning like a vulcano, erupting through her eyes, nose and mouth. She had rose from that bed with only one thing in mind.

But.

She didn’t lie to the blonde, she truly had changed her mind — a touch of fate.

Making Macarena hers became an act of desperation. The moment she stood beside the blonde, watching her, Zulema realized she couldn’t stand the thought of being alone inside those cement walls, much less the thought of letting the woman leave prison unscathed, a piece of her would stay inside, and a piece of Zulema would leave with her — forever bound.

She should have predicted that a bound works both ways.

Macarena had become someone she missed, dearly. Most of her prison days she would spent reliving the memories, seeing blonde locks underneath her eyelids, soft skin underneath her palm, imagining the way her breath would hitch every time her fingers would pick up the pace. 

The sadness hurts, physically. The melancholy hurts, fucking life hurts. Macarena on her mind became like a drug — entering her blood stream, uninvited, coursing through her body, marking her from the inside, and inevitably, becoming an addiction. 

And now.

She had no intentions of letting her go. 

— - — 

After getting dressed, Zulema steps out of her room into the hallway, honey eyes instantly resting on the figure at the end of it.

With feather like steps, she makes her way down the corridor, the soft sound of conversation reaching her ears — nearing the end, she rests a shoulder on the wall, not wishing to be seen just yet.

Macarena has a clouded look on her face, not paying attention to the living room chatter, both of her hands resting on the kitchen countertop in front of her — one finger was tracing the marble, twirling it lazy circles, following the movement with her eyes.

Zulema feels a smirk form on her face after noticing exactly which counter the blonde had her attention fixed on.

That night, she had only planned to eat her apple in peace, enjoying the rare quietitude — she wasn’t used to it, inside prison there was always someone yelling, fucking, or snoring.

It had been quiet enough in the living room for the soft sound of Macarena’s steps reach the bed of her ears. The woman was a sight: bed hair, robe limply tied to her waist, supporting herself on the hallway’s wall — her balance a little off. Zulema had let out a snort at her luck, she had been itching for a moment like that, with no one else to interrupt them.

Kissing Macarena after seven months had been intoxicating — a taste she had almost forgotten, truly an addiction, she had felt ravenous, roaming her hands everywhere, demanding to relive every inch of her skin. 

Unsatisfied.

Taking a step forward, she makes her presence known to the blonde, who finds her gaze immediately, finger stopping mid-turn to form a fist. 

The room goes quiet as she nears Macarena, resting a hip on the same spot she had the blonde cornered the night before, crossing her arms with her head thrown back, watching her through her eyelashes.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Zulema whispers, their faces close enough to make the blonde locks — golden under the morning rays — sway gently as she speaks.

The woman in front of her holds her breath, her lips forming a thin line — knowing full well that the brunette knew exactly which thoughts had been plaguing through her mind — light eyes flicker from honey colored ones down to her smirk, darkening a shade or two.

She truly had made Macarena hers.

“Good thing you decided to grace us with your presence.” 

Fabio’s voice cuts through the room, making the blonde jump — Zulema doesn’t blink, feeling the familiar rage burn within her. 

She turns her head to find the man standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, an impatient look on his face. Zulema wonders if she had waited a little more, he would start tapping his foot on the floor like an petulant child. 

Zulema gives him an exasperated shrug, an innocent smile occupying her face. “Sorry, Captain. My alarm didn’t go off.” 

Fabio grunts, shifting to give Macarena a look before returning his attention to the men around him. 

She turns her gaze back to the blonde, finding her with her eyes closed, two fingers circling her right temple, visually counting to ten. Letting out a sigh, she hands Zulema a warm cup of coffee, tilting her head to the couch with a brow raised — a question.

Nodding, she follows the blonde to the seat, dropping herself down beside her, her legs thrown carelessly in front of her, resting her coffee on the curve of her hip — the ceramic to hot to hold. Macarena had her back fully rested on the couch, fingers crossed over her lap, uncomfortable, either by her presence or Fabio’s, she couldn’t tell. 

He waits one whole second after they sit to open his mouth.

“As I was saying, the gala is tomorrow and each one of you have an important part to make this plan actually work.” He turns to the shelf behind him, retrieving a couple of files into his hands.

“In these there’s everything you need to know about it.” Fabio takes a step towards the man closest to him — Valentín — giving him the files, telling him with a wave of his hand to pass them forward. 

Valentín nods, taking one before delivering the papers to his brother beside him, who receives them with a frown. 

“Are you seriously giving us homework?” Cristían asks, his lips curled in distaste, repeating his brother’s movement with the man sitting next to him before opening his own with a single finger. “This shit looks like a book.” 

“One book you shall have it memorized by tomorrow. I want you to breathe, eat, and shit with this thing close.” 

Macarena receives the last file from Gary with a frown, confused, her mental count not matching. “Fabio, where’s Zulema’s file?” 

“She won’t be needing one.” He grunts, turning his angry face to stare at the woman in question. “Your part is pretty clear: keep your mouth shut and don’t start trouble. Think you can manage that?” 

Macarena holds her breath, her insides squirming with anxiety. The woman beside her has a smile on her face, devoid of any amusement, merely a baring of teeth, honey eyes glowing with a deadly glint — raising a hand to the woman’s thigh, she waits until annoyed green eyes find her own before softly shaking her head.

“Of course, Fabiorito. Wouldn’t want to disrupt this magnificent plan.” Zulema answers, feeling her patience running thin, there’s a limit to how far she’s willing to respect the blonde’s wishes. The woman next to her simply lets out a relieved sigh, dropping her hand to pass it through her hair — she gives Zulema one small smile as a "thank you" before returning her attention to the man at the center of the room.

“As I was saying.” Fabio grunts before opening his own file, retrieving a photograph and turning it to face the crowd in front of him. “This is Emílio Cervantes, Spanish mob boss, he’s the one responsible for throwing the gala.” 

Emílio was a fat middle aged man, white beard contrasting against his tanned skin, he carried a face that exclaimed a easy going person — lines of laughter crossing through his cheeks — the only thing telling off his true nature being the coldness of his eyes, completely black, staring back at you. 

Macarena feels a shiver go down her spine. 

The blonde knows she has an assassin sitting down right next to her, but with Zulema things felt different. They had being dancing to this song for years, one step forward, two steps back, long enough for the taste of her poison become something familiar, turning sweet as she dragged her tongue through Zulema’s mouth, drinking it right from the source.

The man on the picture was something else, his eyes felt like staring face to face with a snake, cold as the metal of a blade, cutting through you. Macarena makes a mental note to not leave Zulema’s side through the whole party — between two devils, she rather choose the one she sleeps with. 

“Emílio has just closed a deal with Balvan Maharaj — Fabio retrieves another picture, a handsome Indian man smiling at them — He is the head of gun traffic in India, all unmarked, best quality you can find on the market. The gala is meant to be a celebration.” 

Also putting the photo down, he retrieves another one, a woman this time. “This is Alejandra Cervantes, wife of Emílio Cervantes, the other reason he’s throwing the gala. Apparently, she caught him cheating with other three woman, and the party is meant to be an apology, along with — the picture he holds this time makes the whole room gasp — this necklace.” 

The piece was simply breathtaking. It’s cord was ornamented with white diamonds, descending the neck like a sparkling ivy, being joined at the front with a enormous amber colored jewel, as big as a closed fist, boldly glowing under the light. 

“Estimated value: thirty five million euros. This little piece right here is the reason we’re all doing this people. Five point eight million euros for each one of you, hope it’s enough motivation for completing your homework, Cristían.” 

The man in question has his mouth thrown open, lower lip glowing with his drool, he closes it audibly at Fabio’s question. “Enough for me to tattoo this entire thing on my back.” 

Fabio chuckles, closing his file.

“The front door security will be extremely heavy: no guns, or weapons, or technology of any kind is allowed inside. You three — he points at Valentín, Macarena and Zulema with a finger — will enter the party completely blind.” 

“You shall do nothing until Cristían gets you, he will be our inside eye, entering through the back door as a waiter. He will be responsible for handling you an earpiece, the spy bug, and a gun.” 

“After receiving everything, Macarena will need to keep your eyes open. The necklace will take a while to arrive the party at Emílio’s request of giving it one last polish before giving it to his wife.”

“The piece will be transported by two out of his twelve personal security guards, we don’t know which, and your job is to figure out.” 

Macarena gives him a nod, feeling a little annoyed at having her own plan being explained to her — looking down, she starts flipping through the pages she wrote herself — this gala was merely the first mountain, her concerns were lying entirely on the next one.

“Valentín, once the necklace arrive, it will be brought up for Alejandra to wear, and your job is to put the spy bug on the necklace for us to—"

Macarena stops paying attention to him, feeling her eyelids heavier by the second, the hours she lost the previous night starting to catch up on her. Passing a hand through her face, she raises her gaze to the reason of her tiredness. Zulema looked as interested in the conversation as her, staring ahead with a bored look, twirling the coffee cup in her hand — watching it now she realizes she should have made one for herself.

After debating herself for exactly one second, Macarena extends her arm to close her fingers on the ceramic, gently taking the cup from her hand — Zulema follows her moments with a raised brow, smirk forming on her face as she watches the blonde take a sip and return it before bringing her attention back to the file on her lap.

The brutal silence makes her raise her gaze to the man at the center of the room.

Fabio looked like he had been slapped, looking at the empty space between the two of them with a confused frown, reacting to the scene he just experienced. 

Zulema almost purrs in excitement, letting out a snort, loud enough to make the man swift his attention to her, the line between his eyebrows deepening. Holding his gaze, she slowly takes a sip from the cup, her lips occupying the same spot the blonde’s had been — dramatically licking her lips at the taste, she gives him a smirk before slowly mouthing the word “Favorite” while pointing a thumb at herself.

Something inside Fabio snaps.

Throwing his file on the floor, he takes three large steps before closing his fingers on the collar of Zulema's shirt,pulling her close to his face, his eyes burning holes on the woman in his grip.

“If I notice that your presence is becoming a risk to the integrity of the plan or endangering Macarena’s life, I will personally whip the floor with your pretty little face.” He snarls, words clipping through his teeth. 

Macarena watches the whole scene unfold frozen to her spot, she had not been paying attention to the conversation long enough to know what might had happened. She can see Zulema’s face from her position, her lips pulled back into a toothy smile, deadly, her eyes shinning with intention, she needs to stop this before the woman—

Too late.

Fabio drops Zulema with a groan, taking a few steps back, hands enveloping his nose, blood oozing right through his fingers — the brunette had headbutted him, hard, hitting her forehead right on his nose, meeting the flesh with a cracking sound, probably breaking it. 

Macarena puts a hand against the brunette’s chest to prevent her from jumping the man, meeting her gaze — green eyes stare right back at her, wide and angry, lips curled back into a snarl. She briefly pictures the image of holding the leash of a very angry dog, pushing against her hand. Zulema hastily shrugs her off, throwing the cup on the floor before rising to her feet and storming out of the living room. 

Macarena turns to give Fabio an incredulous look, palms facing up. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

The man stood at the center of the room, shirt red from the blood dripping through his fingers — she doesn’t even blink, burning up with rage at the situation he caused. 

“What’s wrong with _me_? What’s wrong with _you_?” 

“ _Me_?” 

“ _You_ asked me to take that woman out of jail, _you_ decided she was an essential part of the plan, and _you_ told me she wasn’t going to become a problem.” He shouts, putting all his breath into every word — a tone going down at each ''you'' that comes out of his mouth, until it becomes a growl, hammering through closed teeth.

Macarena feels her body quiver with anger as she rises to her feet.

“The moment Zulema stepped into this house, the only problem I’ve seen so far had been you. I’m growing tired of this, Fabio, either you trust me or not. My patience is growing thin, so I suggest you get your shit together before tomorrow, or else the only thing endangering the integrity of the plan will be you.” 

She finishes before turning her back to him — not bothering to stay and see if the message came across clearly — following the brunette’s steps down the hall. 

Shutting the door with a bang, Macarena turns to face the brunette with her hands on her hips, and incredulous look on her face. “So? What the fuck was that?” 

She finds Zulema smoking with her hip rested on the windowsill, not bothering to take her eyes off the waves ahead of them— giving her a simple nonchalant shrug. “A conversation.” 

“A _conversation_? Really?” The blonde asks, her tone going up a notch. “ _That’s_ what you’re going with?” 

“Your boyfriend has a short fuse, I simply gave him a reminder that I don’t like this sort of chatting.” 

Macarena lets out an ironic snort. “That’s all?” 

After receiving another indifferent shrug, the blonde feels her shoulders drop, the weight of the past couple of days catching up to her. She was growing tired of fighting — both physically and emotionally.

Letting out a sigh, Macarena closes the distance between the two of them, mirroring the brunette’s position on the window, letting the salted smell of the ocean breeze calm her down, shutting her eyes.

“You know, the first thing I did when I came here was to spent the whole night staring at the waves?” She says, her voice barely reaching the brunette’s ears. “Just like you.”

Zulema simply watches her, her eyes squinting a little, taking a drag of her cigarette before exhaling. “Identical twins.” 

Macarena snorts, remembering Altagracia’s words.

“What one feels, the other will feels. What one suffers, the other will suffer.” She says, feeling her lips pull back into an ironic smile, wondering to what extend the words were true.

“Destinies intertwined.” The brunette complements. 

Macarena opens her eyes, turning to face the woman beside her, feeling more troubled by the second. 

Zulema wasn’t exactly a easy person to read — to try understand the motivations behind those eyes was similar to walk blindly in the dark, with your hands stretched out in front of you, sometimes your fingers would curl on something familiar, and you pulls it towards your chest to hug it tightly. Other times, you might just cut your hand on something sharp. 

The blonde knows the woman must certainly doesn’t feel the same way, but sometimes she catches herself wondering if Zulema carries the same weight on her chest as she does — if she pulled out their hearts and compared them side by side, she would see the same scar marking their skin. 

She tries to not indulge herself in these kind of thoughts, but moments like these — when she has Zulema’s words ringing through her ears and honey eyes staring back at her — she feels them flood through her mind.

“Destiny son of a bitch, huh?” She sighs, taking a deep breath to ground herself. 

Zulema simply snickers, exhaling the smoke one last time before putting out the cigarette on the windowsill. “Life is a finger in the asshole — she takes the last cigarette from the pack with her teeth, curving a hand in front of it to light it before taking a drag — Continuously.” She exhales. 

Macarena snorts, silently assenting, life certainly had thrown her a fair amount of curve balls — the brunette herself among the most annoying ones.

Zulema looks at her with a repressed smile gracing her lips, before raising her hand towards the blonde — offering the cigarette between her fingers. 

Accepting, Macarena takes a deep drag, letting the smoke burn her throat, the rush of nicotine hitting her brain relaxing her instantly. As she extends her hand to return it, her mind flashes with a memory that makes her stomach drop.

“He saw it.” She says, her eyes wide. “He saw us sharing the mug, that’s why he exploded on you.” 

Zulema merely takes the cigarette back, taking a drag while she stares ahead.

“You knew, didn’t you?” 

The brunette shrugs.

“Zulema, we can’t have Fabio suspecting about anything, he needs to think I’m in love with him.” Macarena exclaims, passing a nervous hand through her hair, her mind running. The gala is tomorrow, she didn’t tolerated Fabio for a whole month to have things screwed right now. 

The brunette gives her an exasperated look, mockingly waving her hand towards the door. 

Macarena lets out a grunt before heading out of the room, walking down the hallway with frenetic steps, searching for the man. She finds him sitting on the couch, by himself, head tilted up with a cloth pressed against his nose.

A pathetic sight. 

Putting on a worried mask, she heads to the fridge to retrieve an icepack before taking a sit beside him — he doesn’t say anything as she carefully removes the cloth, replacing it for the ice, curving it slight over the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters, a nasal sound because of the ice’s weight. 

She lets out a relieved sigh, mentally thanking his ability to blame himself over anything. “We both lost control, Fabio.” She says, putting a hand on his back. 

“I shouldn’t keep pushing the same button everyday, you’re right, I should trust you.” 

Giving him a soft smile, Macarena presses a chaste kiss upon his cheek, feeling like a weight lifted from her shoulders. “Let’s put this all behind us, okay?” 

The man nods at her, holding the icepack to not let it slide off. 

“Okay. I’m going to make us some lunch, alright? Your favorite?” Macarena asks him, not waiting for a response before rising to her feet and heading straight to the fridge, mentally calculating the right ratio of milk-cheese for the dish.

From the couch, Fabio gives her a enigmatic look. He doesn’t quite know what he saw, but he most certainly won’t let his guard down when it comes to that woman.

He might not know what’s going on, but he will get to the bottom of this, even if its the last thing he’ll do. 

— - —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you guys think? Worth the wait? 
> 
> Finally some insight on how our dear Zule is thinking, and let me tell you, that particular part took me two days to write hahaha
> 
> Looks like Fabio is starting to notice some things, will he become a problem? Who knows? ;)
> 
> Please, if any of you have any doubts, feel free to send me an message through here or my tumblr, I will answer it gladly!
> 
> Next chapter is, finally, the gala! How will these two woman deal with themselves when entering a room full of dangerous people? Stay tuned!


	10. Waltz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing together in triple time, moving in circles, am I floating or drowning with (in) you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dearests!
> 
> Thank you so much for all the attention and love you guys gave me, it truly warmed my heart knowing each one of you are willing to wait for these chapters, I promise to make it worth the wait!
> 
> Also, what the fuck kind of episode was that? If you haven’t watched it, I won’t spoil you, so i’ll just say this: To me, El Oasis is this fanfiction. That’s all.
> 
> I actually had plans of posting on Thursday, but after THAT information ( you know what i’m talking about) I thought that you guys might need something soft, so I added a scene that I was dubious of writing, but after last night events, it became necessary hahah
> 
> And finally, the gala!

“I never understood why women took so long to get ready.” 

Macarena rolls her eyes as she finishes applying the red lipstick on her lips, choosing to simply ignore Zulema. Straightening herself, she stares back at her reflection in the full length mirror in front of her. 

Black hair never suited her, really. She was born with it, but always thought the color made her look forgetful, a face that would enter people’s mind and soon exit, leaving no traces behind. The second she had enough age, she bleached it blonde. Mostly because she had thought the color would make men like her best — that seemed extremely important back then. 

When she was in prison, it worked a little too much, in her opinion. The blonde color had become quite an issue the moment she stepped inside it — becoming the center of Sandoval’s obsession. 

And now, it fitted her too well to change.

Her wig was barely touching her shoulders, only a few inches shorter than Zulema’s own hair — dark locks softly framing her face, along with a fringe that reached the line of her eyebrows. 

The color fitted much better with Zulema than with herself, she thinks, far from forgetful — it was, in fact, one of the things that made her so much harder to get rid off. She often caught herself remembering the times she would run her fingers through dark locks, pulling them so hard she would hiss.

Letting out a sigh, she takes one last look at herself — she was nearly ready, the only thing missing now was…

“Zip me up?”

Macarena asks, raising her gaze to watch the woman sprawled on the bed through the mirror’s reflection, not bothering to turn — her dress was half open, the zipper stopping halfway through, she had tried to close it on her own but instead of making a fool of herself in front of the woman, she’d rather ask for help.

Zulema raises an eyebrow before slowly put her book down, a smirk starting to form on her lips. 

She hasn’t seen the brunette since yesterday. 

The whole group had been implemented the job of studying their own files for the rest of the day, by her own request. 

After the head-butt fiasco, she decided she could use the opportunity to make sure Fabio wasn’t suspecting of anything, meaning, she had been stuck with him for hours, going back and forth about what they were supposed to do. And after that, she was eating next to him, reading next to him, even sleeping with him one more time — anything she could to make sure he was properly fooled. 

She refused to let things start going south this close to the finish line.

As far as she could see, he was happy as ever in her company. He didn’t even argued when she suggested this morning it was probably best for her and Zulema to get ready together in their bedroom — it was the only room with a full length mirror, after all, and she truly needed a moment alone with the brunette to get a few things clear — he had merely let out a grunt before kissing her forehead, saying he will be checking up the equipment one last time. 

The power sex has on men never ceases to amaze her.

Macarena feels her breath hitch, startled at sudden sensation of cold fingers touching the bare skin of her back — successfully pulling her out of her thoughts. Raising her gaze to the mirror, she finds honey colored eyes already staring at her. 

Zulema watches her through her eyelashes, a sly smirk on her face, her fingers toy a little with the zipper before slowly pulling it up — one nail pressing against the skin, leaving an angry line in its path. The pain sends shivers down her back, feeling the familiar desire of gripping the brunette’s neck burn on the palms of her hands.

After fully close her dress, Zulema bends her neck to leave a kiss on the back of her neck, warm lips leaving a mark, before straightening herself to watch the emotions run through the blonde’s eyes in the mirror — amused.

Despite the growing arousal building up in her stomach, Macarena chooses to simply take a deep breath, briefly closing her eyes to ground herself — she had not spent two hours getting ready to smudge her lipstick on Zulema now. 

Turning, she faces the smirking brunette with a raised brow. “You are aware of the dangers of this gala, aren’t you?” 

Zulema gives her a look before returning to her spot on the bed, laying herself down sideways, supporting her head on a closed fist, legs hanging off the mattress. Macarena pauses, intuitively admiring the sight — the black dress was hugging her curves in a annoyingly distracting way, making her question herself if the hours necessary to fix her make-up back together was worth ripping that smirk off that face.

A brief glance at the clock on top of her wardrobe gives her the answer. It was almost eight o’clock, nearly time to go.

“I’m saying that because I know you, Zulema.” The blonde resumes — an effort — putting her hands on her hips. She remembers vividly the brunette’s way of dealing with delicate situations. Not exactly the softest touch. “We can’t create a scene.” 

“Relax, rubia. Not my first rodeo.” 

“Oh, I’m aware of that, that’s exactly my concern.” She says, taking a step towards her dresser beside the bed, bending to check her purse for the gala’s tickets and her lipstick. The bag matched her dress just nicely, small enough to fit her hand, its tiny red jewels reflecting the room’s light as she zipped it shut.

“Emílio doesn’t forgive easily, Zulema, and he won’t hesitate to shoot us if the situation calls for it.” She says as she straightens herself, hands returning to their spot on her hips. The brunette simply gives her a bored look, annoyed at the blonde’s resistance. 

“I’ll be quiet as a mouse.” Zulema replies, giving her an ironic smile. 

Macarena snorts, not believing her for a second. “Your specialty, right?” 

The brunette simply shrugs.

Giving her a hard look, the blonde lets out a sigh. She knows Zulema is only following her wishes because she doesn’t really have much of a choice — the whole plan is orchestrated by her, followed by people of her trust, and there’s a lot of money involved. Zulema will surely think twice before doing anything that will compromise her situation or the blonde's intentions of carrying on a possible partnership with her. 

But.

If prison — and last night — proved anything is that it's not a good idea to push the woman too far. 

Not that she’s has been the best person to respect Zulema’s red flags. Back in prison, she had managed to step on almost every calluses on the woman's feet, with gusto. After years of being Zulema’s enemy, you get used to the taste of her poison, and eventually, grows a resistance — and now, after sharing her bed, it had turned almost sweet.

If anyone is capable of handling the eventualities the _elfa del puto inferno_ can bring, it’s Macarena.

“Have you finished getting ready?” She says, instead. No point in prolonging this conversation any longer — they truly needed to go.

“At least, an hour ago.” Zulema mutters, monotone.

Rolling her eyes, Macarena puts the purse’s cord over her shoulder. “Then let’s go. And don’t forget your fucking wig.” 

“Maca, you’re gorgeous.” 

Fabio says as the both of them step into the living room. 

He was leaning over the desk with both his hands on top of it, its surface covered with several pistols — at least five — along with some technology equipment she couldn’t really tell from her position.

His eyes were staring at her with a burning tenderness that made her stomach roll over itself. He truly loved her. She swallows down a queasiness rising up her throat before giving him a smile, nearing the table — choosing to stand far enough to not encourage him to kiss her.

“Thank you.” 

He straightens himself, closing the distance between then, anyway, giving her body a prolonged look. She can see exactly what thoughts are running behind his eyes — he had been more than happy when she had sat herself on his lap last night. 

She represses a shudder. 

There was a time that maintaining a relationship like this would be something unthinkable for her. Forcing herself on unwanted sex has never been a thought that passed through her mind easily. She had struggled with the subject plenty of times during prison. This new found coldness would have had prevented a handful of situations she had gotten herself into. Maybe, she never had been as desperate before — and if prison has taught her anything is that you’re capable of anything if you’re desperate enough. 

She briefly wonders to herself if sleeping with Zulema two nights ago had been a desperate choice — hers or the woman’s. 

Or both.

“Where is everyone?” She asks, deciding to direct his attention to something other than her own body.

“Apparently, you found your match on who takes longer to get ready.” Fabio laughs, his eyes glowing at her. 

At this distance, she could perfectly see the damage Zulema’s forehead had caused on him — deep angry-looking bags laying under his eyes. The ice did nothing to stop the enormous bruise from forming. 

To that, Macarena chooses to say nothing, assuming things were still sore after last nights events. 

Both his face and ego.

The woman beside her lets out a snort, obviously not having the same concerns as her. “Didn’t think that was possible.” 

Macarena gives her a look before rolling her eyes. 

Fabio visually swallows down his anger, a deep frown cutting through his expression. Playing her part, the blonde raises a hand to the man’s cheek, waiting for his eyes to meet her’s before giving him a smile. It works. He lets out a sigh before returning to his business on the table, promptly ignoring the brunette’s existence.

A wolf whistle coming from behind her makes her turn to find both Cristían and Valentín coming towards them. 

“Looking hot, girls.” Cristían says, giving the both of them a once-over, shamelessly. 

Used to his behaviors, Macarena gives the man a smile. Zulema, on the other hand, was staring at him like he was a piece of gum stuck underneath her shoe — torn between letting it there or scrape it off with a knife. 

“I told you, you would look devilish in a dress.” Valentín says, much more elegantly than his brother, picking her hand to give a soft kiss on its back. 

“As do you, Zulema.” He says, not repeating the same movement on her. 

A smart man. 

To him, Zulema chooses to give a simple tight smile — out of the two, he was the one she put up with the most.

Mentally counting the heads present in the room, Macarena turns to Fabio with a puzzled look on her face. “Where is Gary?” 

“Picking up the car.” 

“I thought we were going in that van of yours.” Cristían asks, adjusting the colar of his costume. It was contrasting terribly next to his brother’s tux — the yellow short sleeved shirt trashing with his skin tone — it was truly dimming down his good looks.

“Brother, do you really expect a man of my status to arrive at a party, financed by the Spanish mob boss, in a _van_?” Valentín asks him, giving him an exasperated look.

“What else, then?” 

“Oh please, I ordered a limusine.” Valentín answers, brushing the lapels of his tux, holding his chin a little higher. “You and Fabio will go in the van. Gary will drive the rest of us with style.” 

Cristían looks like he had his favorite toy taken from him, a pout treating to form on his lower lip.

Zipping up the bag that held their equipments, Fabio throws it over his shoulder, promptly ending their conversation. “He should be arriving by now, let’s wait for him outside.” 

As everyone starts making their way out, Fabio lays a hand on Valentín’s shoulder to stop his movements, waiting for them to be alone before speaking in a low voice.

“I want you to keep an eye out for Zulema.” 

Valentín gives him a confused look, not really understanding his motivations. Yes, he knew the woman was as unstable as one could be, but surely the man knew that pretty soon she wasn’t going to be the most dangerous person in the room

“I mean it. I have my reasons to believe she’s up to something, and you’re my oldest friend, Valentín. I trust you to keep Maca safe inside that gala.” 

Puffing up his chest, he gives Fabio a confident smile, raising his hand to firmly grip him on the shoulder. “No harm will come to Macarena under my watch. I promise you that, my friend.” 

Giving the hand on his shoulder a squeeze, Fabio nods, feeling more secure now that he has one more set of eyes to watch the brunette. 

He doesn’t know what he saw last night — he had caught only half the scene — but seeing Zulema mocking him right after certainly meant no good. He knew the brunette was known for her way of approaching her goals in the most peculiar way possible, and if making Macarena trust her was part of it, he will make sure she doesn’t get close enough to harm her. 

With one more adjust on the heavy bag on his shoulder, he tilts his head towards the door, signalizing for the both of them to leave — they had held back long enough.

At the front door's threshold, he can see the familiar looking limousine approaching them. Giving Gary a wave of his hand, he starts making a silent prayer, desperately hoping this whole plan won’t make Macarena be taken away from him.

— - — 

“You’re stiff as a board, rubia.” 

Macarena rolls her eyes as she takes a sip from her champagne glass, scanning the ballroom in front of them. With his back turned towards them, Valentín was having an hearty chat with the contact responsible for getting them inside the gala — a necessity, he claimed — she could hear his heavy laugh over the grumbled noise of the crowd and music surrounding them.

They had been one of the first few guests to arrive — intentionally. The necklace was set to arrive right at the beginning of the gala, which could be at any moment by now. Meanwhile, Macarena’s eyes were in a love triangle between the ballroom, her glass, and the front door.

Emílio’s summer mansion was a sight to behold. Cream walls coated with golden framed paintings, a high ceiling decorated with renascence frescoes — little chubby angels sitting on clouds, staring at the scene bellow them. The second floor was visible through open balconies surrounding the walls, coming together at the center point of the room with two marble staircases coming from both sides.

A life of crime certainly has given the man plenty of riches to show off. 

Macarena briefly thinks to herself if she’ll ever get used to this kind of life — she doesn’t know what worries her the most about it: the continuous fear of getting caught by the police, or the fact that she will be sharing it all with Zulema. 

“Who would have thought. You, me, two son of a bitches who tried to kill each other, working towards the same goal.” The woman herself says next to her, almost reading her thoughts — lips pulled back into a smirk.

Macarena snorts as she stares at the bottom of her champagne glass, slowly twilling the clear bubbly liquid inside of it — a bittersweet smile gracing her mouth. 

She was extremely aware of the irony of the situation. 

Their relationship had never settled on a single setting before, even before sharing a bed, they had always managed to shift between hate and something else. She worries that a life in crime, together, will only aggravate the situation to a more extreme scenario — the growing affection she has for the brunette will mean nothing when it comes to the battle of forces the two of them can get themselves into. 

The process of accepting that Zulema’s grip on her life was deeper than she had thought had not been an easy one. At the beginning, she had used every ounce of her strength to fight it — but just like holding your breath, there’s so much you can take until you gasp for air. Some things are better to embrace than to resist.

“We form a strange duo.” 

Zulema chuckles, taking a sip of her own glass — agreeing. 

“What exactly will you do with Fabiorito when we get the necklace?” 

“I won’t let you kill him, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The brunette snorts, not denying nor confirming anything. Not that she needed to, the both of them knew pretty well what thoughts had been running through Zulema’s mind for the past couple of days. “I’m only saying that our dearest lover boy won’t drop the bone that easily.” 

Macarena lets out a sigh. She knows Fabio will never let her go without a fight. Despite her growing intolerance of his presence, she didn’t want to use force — killing force — to take him out of her life. They had shared something, once upon a time. She had loved him, wished to have a life with him.

But.

If he left her no choice, she wouldn’t hesite in stepping aside and letting Zulema do whatever she wishes on him. Desperate times…

Not that she’ll give the brunette that green light so soon.

“I’m aware of that. But, I’d rather avoid do something that involves you emptying the whole clip of a gun on him.”

Raising her gaze, she finds Zulema biting her thumb with an enigmatic look on her face.

“I meant it, Zulema. Let me handle Fabio.”

Letting out a frustrated snort, the brunette drops her hand to turn an angry gaze towards her, green eyes glowing under the ballroom’s soft light. “Oh yeah? Because you’ve been doing that job so well.” She grunts, a finger rising to hastily poke Macarena in the forehead — last night’s headbutt still very fresh in her mind.

Macarena meets her gaze with anger bubbling up in her stomach, fingers gripping tightly around the champagne glass in her hand. It never ceased to amaze her how easily their relationship could shift — truly, a pendulum, swinging back and forth like a metronome, between burning passion and blinding rage. Only a few hours ago she had been wishing to tear that dress apart and rip that smirk off her face. 

And now, her only wishes were to sink her champagne glass into Zulema’s neck.

“Appetizers, ladies?”

Breaking their stare match, Macarena turns to find Cristián giving the both of them an polite smile — completely unaware of what exactly he had just interrupted — raising a food plater with a hand, while the other was curved in front of his stomach with a towel folded on top of it. 

“You’ll find them to be extremely delicious .” He says, giving them an wink, signalizing to the towel folded over his hand with a tilt of his head. 

Giving Zulema a single look, the blonde positions herself right in front of Cristían, putting a puzzled look on her face, pretending to decide which appetizer she would choose — blocking the view just enough to let the brunette slither a hand underneath the towel, swiftly grabbing the package, putting it underneath her armpit, before taking a step back. 

“No gun, Don Juan?” Zulema asks, annoyed.

“The security is more attentive than you thought, Maca. I had to pretend to go out and smoke to put ours guns in the trash. I was only able to sneak in the earplugs and the spy-bug.” 

Passing a hand through her hair — carefully not to disturb the wig — she lets out a frustrated sigh, wondering if this evening could get any worse. “That’s fine, Cristían. You did your best. The main piece is with us, at least.”

“Let’s just hope the big mob boss doesn’t decide to use us for aim practice.” Zulema mutters, an ironic smile on her face. 

“Cristían, go give your brother his earpiece, and tell him to come over here.” 

As she watches him go, Macarena feels a ball of worry start growing inside her stomach. One thing was to face a Emílio while armed to her teeth, but it was an entirely different thing to do it bare.

“What exactly are we going to do if Al Capone notices our little plan of stealing his apology gift to his wife?” 

Macarena takes a nervous sip of her champagne before turning to meet green eyes staring at her. Things could go from quiet to chaos in a heartbeat if even one of Emílio’s security guards suspect of anything. 

They needed to do things fast, and stealthily.

Opening her mouth to respond, the blonde stops when she feels Zulema’s hand on her chest — the woman was turning her head to somewhere to the left. Following her gaze to the front door, Macarena feels her stomach drop when her eyes find the source of the brunette’s distraction.

The necklace had arrived.

Two large men, in black suits, had entered the room carrying a silver suitcase in their arms. They gave no attention to the people around them, parting through the crowd with no problem, heading straight to the marble staircases that lead to the second floor.

It was time to set their game afoot.

Without hesitation, Zulema places the package on Macarena’s waiting hand, which she hastily tears through the plastic and gives the brunette her earplug, before guarding the spy-bug inside her purse.

In a swift movement, she combs her hair with her fingers, putting the earplug inside her ear before dropping her hand. She waits for Zulema to do the same before rising her glass to her lips, speaking softly as she pretends to have a sip.

“Fabio? Can you hear us?”

“ _Yes, perfectly. Did everything go as planned?_ ”

“No, we are gunless. The necklace arrived. The security guards are the exact two I hoped were on vacation, but apparently, Emílio wanted his best men on the job.” 

_“We need that spy-bug ready, right now.”_

“Valentín, where are you?” 

“Right here, ladies” Comes a voice from behind them. Valentín puts both of his arms around the women’s shoulders, giving them a cheeky smile before putting his lips at the base of Macarena’s ear. 

“Remember my friend over there?” He asks, one finger going forward to point at his contact’s back. “That little bird just told me that Emílio is going down in a couple of minutes to give Balvan a “thank you” speech.” 

“And, rumor has it that his wife didn’t accept his little gift that well, which means, she will be very open for a conversation with a very handsome man.” He finishes with a smug grin. 

_“Excellent, Valentín. Your job is to get close enough to put the spy-bug on the wife’s necklace._ ”

“No one has resisted my charms before.” 

“I hope that’s true, because there they come.” Macarena says, pointing her glass at the top of the staircase.

Emílio was much more frighting than the picture made it seem, she thinks, watching as the man stood on the top of the stairs as if it was a theater stage — arms wide open for his audience, charismatic smile upon his face — it did nothing to hide the coldness of his eyes, viceral in person, making her insides twist and turn underneath his gaze.

“Welcome, my friends, to my gala. This is a very special evening that I decided to celebrate with all of you.”

“Tonight, I welcome a new member, Balvan Maharaj, into the breast of my family.” Emílio exclaims, pointing a very large hand at the bottom of the stairs, where she assumed the man in question was located. The crowd gives him a round of applause, politely— as one does when the Spanish mob boss speaks anything. 

“Please, enjoy the evening. Dance, drink, go loco, this night is for celebration.” He finishes with a belly laugh, deep, one you’d expect coming from a father or a grandfather — not a killer. But, just like most aspects, you never expect them to come from a killer. Emílio gives his stomach one last pat before turning to start descending the steps, moving out of the way so his wife can step into view.

The moment Macarena lays eyes on her she starts feeling droplets of sweat accumulating at the back of her neck.

“She’s not wearing it.”

_“What?”_

“She’s not wearing the necklace, Fabio.” 

“Apparently, the rumor was true. And worse than we thought.” 

“You think, Valentín?” Macarena exclaims, her voice one or two tones higher than normal out of pure anxiety. 

The man gives her a worried look before dropping his arms from around their shoulders, choosing to cross them over his chest. “What now?”

_“Now we need to regroup and reformulate the whole plan again—”_

Macarena blocks him out as her mind starts running. She refuses to back down when they are so close to getting what they came for. 

Her gaze naturally lifts to meet the brunette's when an idea flashes through her mind. Zulema has an alert look on her face, keen green eyes staring right back, unblinking — determined. She knows exactly what the blonde is thinking, and knows that that’s what she needs to do.

“We won’t do anything of the sort, Fabio.” She says, interrupting the man — not taking her eyes off Zulema for a single second, a matching smirk starting to form between them.

_“What?”_

Turning to face Valentín, she rests a hand upon his shoulder, giving a single pat before opening her mouth. “Nothing changes for you. I need you to distract the wife, anyhow. Keep her away from Emílio.”

_“What are you talking about, Macarena?”_

“I’m going to put the spy-bug on the necklace myself.”

_“What?”_ Both men choir in unison. 

She doesn’t reply, turning to meet Zulema’s eyes once again. 

This interaction between them was precisely what made her come back to her after all those months — despite having every reason not to. 

The brunette didn't back down when the situation got complicated — one of the few people she knew that instead of running away from fire, headed straight towards it. Zulema would never stop the blonde from doing something dangerous, not even their new found intimacy with each other would stand in the way of what needed to be done. 

Everyone on her life had tried to protect her, treat her like they would a child, believing she was too soft for this world. Zulema was something else entirely. Forcing her to stare at the void with unblinking eyes, demanding for it to be thefirst one to give in. 

“Watch Emílio for me?”

Zulema gives her a firm nod — encouraging. Her ginger wig was contrasting just nicely with her eyes, glowing green underneath the low yellow lights coming from the chandeliers above them. Macarena has never thought that the word “beautiful” would pass through her mind when referring to the brunette, but right now, she couldn’t think of any more suitable.

Macarena gives her a small smile before turning, heading for the stairs. 

_“Macarena, what are you doing?”_

_“_ What I need to do, Fabio. Or do you want to explain everyone that we won’t be able to give 5.8 million euros to them?” 

_“You don’t need to risk yourself like that, we can return and plan something else.”_

“You know the plan as well as I do, Fabio. Emílio won’t let that necklace stay here for too long, and you know after it begins transportation, our time starts running out. We need to do this right now.” She says, her voice low, not wishing to move her lips too much. 

Reaching the bottom step, Macarena starts making her way up, elbow softly brushing against the railing, doing her best to keep her head down — wishing the wig would do its magic and turn her face into a forgetful one, just like she always feared black hair would do. 

The second floor consisted of a continuous balcony, surrounding the whole room, giving the people who were leaning over the golden fence a full view of what was happening right bellow them. The stairs ended straight to a hallway, stepping inside, Macarena takes a look around to place herself. 

There wasn’t as many people as outside roaming through the hallways, becoming emptier the farther it goes. Taking the first left, she heads straight ahead, following her mental map of the house towards the master bedroom.

After walking for a couple of seconds, she makes a right turn — heavy-looking double doors entering her line of vision. Emílio and Alejandra’s room.

“Cristían?” 

_“Yes?”_

“What do you know about lock-picking?” Macarena asks as she nears it, softly tracing the expensive looking wood with the tips of her fingers, before descending her hand to the doorknob and twisting it despite of knowing it would must certainly be locked — sometimes fate enjoys leaving unexpected gifts at your doorstep, but apparently, not this time. 

_“If the door is simple enough, I could open it.”_

“A crash course would be good.” 

_“Ahh, right. So, first…”_

Crouching down in front of the door, Macarena lowers her eye level to the keyhole, attentively listening to the man’s words. Reaching for her wig, she retrieves a hairpin that was holding her fringe in place, bending the metal to form a straight line before inserting it inside the hole — wiggling and turning as Cristían instructs, carefully keeping an eye out for any security that may approach.

With one final push, she hears a soft click. 

“Oh shit, it worked.” 

_“I’m an excellent teacher, mind you.”_

Straightening herself back up, she tries the doorknob again — it opens. A gift from fate.

“I’m heading inside Emílio’s bedroom. Keep an eye out.” 

_“Roger that.”_

The bedroom was as grandiose as the rest of the house. The same cream colored walls and golden framed paintings were decorating the room — at the center, a huge four-posted bed with long heavy red drapes falling over them. All the furniture seemed to be made of the same expensive material of the door, wood a deep brown, almost red, ornamented with little golden lines at the borders.

Scanning the room, her eyes find the silver suitcase thrown over the dressing table. Taking a step towards it, Macarena slowly opens the lid to reveal the breathtaking necklace inside it. 

It was an effort to prevent herself from simply stuffing the whole thing down her purse and run as fast as she could out of the mansion. But, the risk was too high. Emílio would surely notice a piece so valuable going missing right under his nose, and despite knowing Zulema would totally be fine with fighting his security guards over it, they were gunless. 

And facing over a dozen security guards unarmed would truly force their luck with fate.

Her fingers softly brush against the diamonds, getting briefly enchanted by its spell. So close, yet so far. 

With a brief shake of her head, Macarena unzips her purse to retrieve the petite box that held the spy-bug. Opening it, she takes the piece carefully between her index and thumb — it was merely a couple of millimeters tall, thin as a paper sheet, one side extremely sticky. Folding the center piece over, she glues the spy-bug right underneath it, before carefully putting the jewel back down, exactly how she found it. 

Taking one last look to admire it, she heads back out, closing the door with a soft thud. 

“All done.” 

_“Thank god, Macarena”_ Fabio whispers against her ear, his words heavy with worry. 

_“I wouldn’t celebrate so soon, rubia, Al Capone is heading towards the stairs.”_

Macarena doesn’t hesitate and starts making her way down the hall in a swift pace, redoing all of her steps until she reaches the top of the stairs again. Taking one quick look at the bottom, she begins heading down — nails nervously clicking against the railing. 

“Cristían, start getting ready to leave. Valentín, find a way to end your conversation with the wife and meet the both of us at the—” 

Slamming hard on a solid body, Macarena feels the air leave her lungs — falling backwards over the stair’s last steps, her lower back hitting hard against the marble.

“Good Lord, are you well, my dear?” 

Raising a hand to check if her wig was still in place, the blonde swallows down the pain with an effort — feeling her whole back tense up over the blunt force it had just received. 

Blinking her eyes up, Macarena feels dread fills up her stomach.

Emílio was standing right in front of her, cold black eyes staring right through her soul. He seemed to have been right in the middle of a conversation with Balvan, who stood right next to him, peeking over his shoulder to see what caused the interruption. 

Macarena couldn’t believe her fucking luck.

The older man raised a brow at her stunned silence before stretching a hand to help her back to her feet. Hesitating only for a heartbeat, the blonde accepts it, putting a distressed look over her face — if all those weeks with Fabio taught her anything, is that playing the damsel in distress part is the best way to go when dealing with egocentric men that believed they were the center of a woman’s world. Certainly a man that cheated his wife with three other women would fit the category. 

Internally hoping her face was giving off the right flags, Macarena pulls her lips into an embarrassed smile, curving a hand on her pink cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cervantes. I didn’t see where I was going.” 

“No problem, my dear.” He says, his face opening up into a charming smile. She mentally sighs in relief. “I doubt any man would bother to have a pretty girl like you slamming into them.” 

Macarena gives him a timid smile as she takes a step to the side, internally counting the seconds for this conversation to be over. “I’m sorry, either way. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Cervantes, but I really must go— ”

“Why so soon?” He says, closing his fingers on her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “We just started getting to know each other.” 

The blonde feels her breath stop — insides rolling over itself in pure anxiety. His hand was leaving an uncomfortable warmth upon her skin, too damp, almost claustrophobic. She wanted to shrug her arm out of his grip, but chose to give him a smile instead. 

“I really need to go, Mr. Cervantes.” 

“At least tell me you name?” 

Macarena freezes, feeling the walls starting to close on her. She couldn’t give him her real name, and to invent one with the way her mind was running was proving to be a more difficult task than she had hoped.

“Bonnie, there you are.” 

Lifting her gaze over Emílio’s shoulder, light eyes meet with green ones staring right back at her. 

Zulema. 

Macarena want to kiss her. 

“Is she giving you a trouble, Mr. Cervantes? Bonnie over here is known for headbutting people along the way.” 

Now, she wants to hit her. _Hija de puta._

Zulema simply gives her a smirk, before returning her attention to the man in front of her. Emílio gives her a prolonged up-and-down before responding. “Not at all, she has been a delight.” 

“Well, you must excuse her, she did promise me a dance before the ball is over.” 

“You two?” He asks, his eyes glowing with the implications of such task. He sure enjoyed to watch when two women played together. Dropping his heavy hand from the blonde's arm, he gives them a polite wave before stepping back. 

The brunette gives him a wink before closing slender fingers around Macarena’s hand, pulling her towards the center of the room. 

The blonde counts a couple of steps before opening her mouth. “Bonnie? Seriously?” 

Zulema gives her a look over her shoulder, brow raised. “Would you rather finish your talk with Al Pacino over there?” 

Letting out a sigh, she chooses not to reply. And judging by the smirk the brunette flashes her before facing forward, she doesn’t need to. Zulema leads them straight ahead, reaching almost the absolute center of the room before stopping. Dropping the blonde’s hand before turning to face her. 

Macarena starts opening her mouth to tell her they need to leave when she feels a hand slither through her waist — she closes it. 

Lifting her gaze to meet the brunette’s, she gives the woman a frown. “Zulema, what are you doing?” 

Rather than answering, she closes the distance between them with a pull of her hand, near enough so with each deep breath, Macarena feels her chest brush against Zulema’s. Slender fingers raise to leave a warm trail through her shoulder, brushing down her arm, and finally descending to curl themselves over the blonde’s fingers before raising their folded hands up to their sides — intuitively, she rests her other hand on top of the brunette’s shoulder. 

There were some things in life Macarena doesn’t let herself wish for. The return of her parents, the power to change her past choices, that she was a better person and didn’t need to plot plans and schemes to make a living through life.

And most importantly, she doesn’t let herself wish that this thing between them was true. 

Zulema was swaying them back and forth, not exactly a waltz, but something close to it, enough to follow the soft rhythm of music surrounding them. Macarena feels her mind swarm with thoughts she shouldn’t have, feels her chest burn up with a warmth she shouldn’t be feeling. Moments like these always managed to catch her by surprise. She tries her best to avoid them, but it slithers through her fingers like water, dripping through the gaps. And before she knows it, she’s drowning in them, helplessly sinking, deeper and deeper. 

“What are we doing, Zulema?” She manages, making an effort to ground herself — taking shallow breaths in an attempt to avoid brushing up against the brunette’s chest. 

The woman simply gives her a smirk, tilting her head to the side. “Al Pacino is still watching us, and I did say you had promised me a dance.”

Letting out a sigh, Macarena wills her heart to stop hammering against her chest — she should have known there was a pretty rational reason for all this. Taking a peek through the corner of her eye, she catches Emílio staring right at them, a big fat cigar trapped between his teeth. 

“I never understood why I always managed to attract the most creepy ones.” 

Zulema gives her a nonchalant shrug — she feels it underneath her palm. “Men have a tendency to prefer the blondes.” 

Turning to face her once again, Macarena hesitates for a second before opening her mouth.

“What about you?” 

The woman raises a brow.

“Do you have a tendency to prefer the blondes, too?” 

Zulema gradually slows them down until the both of them were now simply standing at the middle of the ballroom — honey eyes staring right back at her. From her point of view she could see something working behind her gaze, deep inside her mind. 

It was a frustrating process being a bystander of scenes such as these, merely watching it unfold right in front of her eyes — a light-show of browns and gold inside her stare, twisting into each other, whispering phrases to her in a language she could only yearn to understand. The words were floating through the distance between them, pressing down against her chest, sinking through her clothes, right into her heart. 

Sometimes she thinks Zulema is doing this on purpose, as some part of a sick joke for old times sake. But staring at her now, Macarena starts wondering if the brunette was indeed carrying a weight upon her chest, one that she didn’t even know about — the same one as hers. 

Raising the hand from the woman’s shoulder, Macarena curves her fingers over Zulema’s cold cheek, a thumb softly brushing the skin underneath. Fate truly had funny ways of leaving gifts at your doorstep.

“There you are.” 

Macarena parts from Zulema as if she was made of burning coal, her heart drumming heavily at the base of her throat. Taking a step back, she turns to find Valentín giving the both of them a relieved smile. 

“I’ve been looking all around for the two of you. Cristían already left with Fabio and Gary is outside with the limousine waiting for us.” 

Taking a deep breath, Macarena brushes a hand through her wig, refusing to look at the brunette at the moment, deciding to focus her entire attention on the man in front of her. “Right. Then, let’s go.” 

Stepping aside Valentín, she heads straight towards the front door, parting through the crowd with hasty steps, not bothering to look back.

Zulema watches her go with a puzzled look upon her face. Something was twisting inside her, giving in under a heavy weight — leaking through her insides, staining and marking everything it touches. Brows forming a frown, she raises her gaze to the man in front of her. 

“You heard her, Astaire.” She says before following the blonde’s steps through the ballroom and out the mansion, Valentín close behind.

From the other side of the room, Emílio watches the whole scene with an enigmatic look upon his face — cold dead eyes following the three of them leave his house. 

Raising a huge hand to wave a security guard over , he bends his neck to whisper a few instructions upon his ear — the man gives his boss a firm nod before taking the same path that that particular woman that had held his interest so deeply had took. 

Taking a deep drag of his cigar, Emílio lets a smile graze upon his face.

He always got what he wanted, and by God, how he wanted that woman.

— - —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, what is Emílio going to doooo? ahahah
> 
> So, Zule is starting to feel some things, huh? Maybe we'll start seeing her show her feelings (in her own way) to our dearest Maca... 
> 
> Zulema in my fanfiction will receive the love, affection, and freedom she didn't receive in El Oasis. Zulema will not die, neither will Macarena, the both of them will have a happy ending together in this story, so if you had any doubts about it, calm you petite hearts. Only happy endings in this Fic. 
> 
> Until next time, my dearests, may our hearts be strong enough to handle whatever that lunatic of a director will throw at us. 
> 
> Warm hugs!


	11. Intertwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(Persephone leans onto Hades and kisses him)_
> 
> _**She whispers:** For love, I will handle your sins._
> 
> _And for justice?_
> 
> _For justice, I will show you mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dearest! 
> 
> Here it is! My longest chapter yet!
> 
> Some quick notes before anything. I'm sure you guys noticed (or read my tweets) but this story will now be only thirteen chapters long. I thought hard about it and decided it was for the best, since i'm writing longer chapters with more detail, two more will be more than enough to give this story the ending it deserves. And before you guys get sad, I need to remind you that I have every intention to write a Sequel, so any goodbyes are temporary ;)
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the story! Lots of things happening in this one, so get ready! ahahha

“What the hell were you thinking?” 

Macarena hears as soon as she steps inside the house. 

Internally praying to whoever’s listening to give her patience, she turns her gaze to the man standing at the center of the room. 

Fabio had a stern look upon his face, completely displeased, his lips turning into an almost comic grimace, splitting his face in two. The man's hands were rested upon his hips the same way her mother’s would pose when her and her brother had stolen some biscuits from the jar before dinner was ready back when they were children — the only thing missing was the tapping foot upon the floor. 

In a different life, the scene, perhaps, would make her feel ashamed of her actions. She would try and apologize, make things nice again, anything to make him stop giving her that look. But now, honestly, she had been through worse. 

And “worse” had been sitting beside her during the two-hour drive it took for them to get back to the cottage. 

“I was doing what was necessary, Fabio.” She sighs, gently taking her wig off and pulling her hair out of its tight knot, throwing the piece on top of the table before rolling her neck in a attempt to relieve some tension. — feeling her shoulders giving in under the weight of that evening’s previous events. “I told you that.” 

Fabio lets out a mean snort, passing a frustrated hand over his face. His gaze lifts to meet with Valentín’s as the man steps inside the room. Macarena frowns over the mysterious exchange they share, a closed-off communication she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The man pats Fabio on the shoulder before taking a sit on the couch beside his sound asleep brother, starting to remove his buckle shoes.

Whatever it was, it manages to calm Fabio down, a heavy sigh dropping down his shoulders, massaging his neck with the curl of his fingers. “Fine. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He tells her, his gaze turning back to the soft brown that he continuously liked to send her way. 

“And I’m glad we’re not thirty five million euros poorer, technically.” Macarena hears coming from behind her. Zulema steps beside her, tearing her wig off and throwing it at the kitchen’s countertops before resting her elbows on top of it. 

Macarena feels the good old headache starting to build up behind her right eye as she watches the familiar rage burn behind Fabio’s eyes at the brunette’s words. Raising a hand to make tight turns around her temple, she decides she should speak something before he decides a headbutt wasn’t a clear enough of a message. 

“Before you two start, I need to give everyone a reminder of what exactly we are going to face from now on.” She says, putting her hands on her hips. 

The blonde briefly looks behind her when the sound of the front door closing echos through the room. Gary had stepped inside, and at her words, decided to simply stand by the threshold with his arms crossed — paying close attention to her. She gives him a soft smile before returning her attention to the matter at hand. “With the spy-bug on the necklace, now it’s only a matter of time before it’s starts moving back to Emílio’s safe back in Madrid.” 

“And that’s where we’ll steal it?” Cristían asks, rubbing his eyes, his voice partially annoyed with the way his brother elbowed him awake. 

“No. We will steal it while it’s being transported.” Macarena tells him.

“What? Why?”

“Everything is weaker during transportation.” Zulema replies, resting her cheek upon a closed fist, looking more bored by the second. But, when the blonde meets her gaze briefly, she lets a smirk curl on the corner of her lips. 

“Exactly.” The blonde says, matching Zulema’s smile. Taking a step closer to the table, she bends over to open up Fabio’s laptop, logging in on the spy-bug's network. When a red dot appears at the center of the screen, she lets a full smirk form on her face. “I had spent months cracking my head open about how we would steal that man’s safe inside one of the most prestigious banks of all Madrid. But then, I realized just that. We don’t need to. It will be much easier to steal a single van than a whole bank.”

Fabio had a frown upon his face as he watched the red dot blink on the screen, arms crossed tightly over his chest — his mind had been burning with a single question the instant he stepped inside the house. “What exactly happened after you left the ballroom?” 

Letting out a sigh, Macarena straightens herself to face the man. She always hated when he gave her that look. He seemed worried, truly worried about her. All her life, men always treated her like she was a little cloth doll, too fragile to handle the cruelty real life had to offer. She despised how that look reminded her of all the times she had let herself become just that.

“I walked up to their room, put the spy-bug on the necklace, and came back down.”

“That’s all?” 

Macarena starts feeling her neck tingle under the intensity of a stare, a burning sensation warming up the skin like a caress, starting at the base of her scalp before slowly descending down her back. She doesn’t need to turn to know exactly which set of eyes are being responsible for such occurrence. Curling her hands into fists, she opens her mouth to respond.

“Yes, Fabio. That’s all.” 

He simply nods at her, choosing to drop the subject for now. He had been furious to see how vulnerable Macarena been through the gala. He simply couldn’t believe how reckless she had acted, going up to Emílio’s room all by herself. He knew he couldn’t be angry at Valentín for letting it happen — when something got inside Macarena’s head, it was impossible to get it out — but he simply couldn’t contain his need to keep her safe at all times.

“As I was saying — she resumes, giving him a tight smile before closing the laptop — the necklace could start moving any time now, but we suspect that Emílio will wait until at least tomorrow to transport it. Once he does, we’ll intercept him halfway through.” 

“Emílio uses vans to do his transportation — the same one we have — and uses more than one at the same time, with different security guards, as a form of distraction. But, with the spy-bug, we’ll know exactly which one the necklace will be, and after tonight’s gala, also who will be inside.”

“Which reminds me, we might need to do some shopping, Fabio.” She finishes, meeting brown eyes once again.

“What do you mean?” He asks, confused, he had just restocked everything. 

“Cristían had to throw our guns in the trash.” 

“You what?” He exclaims, turning his frustrated gaze to the man himself thrown over the couch. Cristían immediately sits up a little straighter at having Fabio’s eyes being directed at himself. 

“Don’t blame me, it was either that or the whole thing would go to shit. I had security breathing down my neck.” He defends himself, his shoulders briefly shaking when a shiver goes down his spine, remembering the way a particular security guard had looked _way_ too intensively at him. 

He knows he was attractive, but god damn, sometimes his beauty was a chore. 

“Those guns were expensive, Cristían. It was risky enough for us to contact Valentín’s source once, and now we might need to do it again.” Fabio grunts, feeling his own personal headache starting to build up at the back of his skull. This whole plan was turning out to be more risky than he had thought. He’s starting to fear for dangers this whole situation might bring him — or worse, Macarena.

“I believe he will be available by tomorrow morning, Fabio.” Valentín says from his position on the couch, his eyes on the cellphone inside his hand. Fingers quickly typing over its keyboard. With one final movement, he guards it inside his breast pocket before meeting the man’s gaze. “We may meet him at the same spot, same time.” 

With a nod, Fabio lets out a sigh. At least, some good news.

“I shall deliver the limousine tomorrow as well.” Gary complements, nodding his head to the man. 

“Wait a minute — Cristían interrupts, raising a hand like a schooler, his face splitting into a frown — if we only have one van, how did you pick up the limousine, Gary?” 

“I jogged.” He says simply, his face rested into a calm expression, not noticing the impact of his words on the younger man staring at him.

“ You jog— How far is the renting shop?” 

“Four miles.” 

“And you jogged?” 

“What? It’s was my routine run.” 

Cristián’s face pales at his words. “I’m calling it. Psychopath.” He says with an accusatory finger pointing in his direction. 

Macarena chucklers at their interaction. “Alright, time to bed, everyone. Get some rest.” 

Every single one of them start getting to their feet, entering into each respective bedroom. Zulema, she notices with a mental sigh, doesn’t move a muscle. 

Fabio starts making his way down the hall before noticing the blonde wasn’t following — stopping halfway through, he turns to give her a confused look. “Are you coming?”

Macarena bits her bottom lip, weighting her choices. 

She had spent the whole ride back from the gala pondering about her previous interaction with the brunette — repeating the scene over and over again through her memory, trying to decipher what exactly had ran behind those honey eyes staring at her.

Taking a brief glance at Zulema through the corner of her eye, she lets out a sigh, feeling like there never had been a choice, in the first place. She would never be able to sleep with that doubt running through her mind. “I will take a shower, first. Go ahead, I’ll go to bed right after.” 

Fabio hesitates. His eyes blinking to the smirking brunette behind Macarena before returning to the blonde. He had a terrible feeling about this. 

Noticing his reluctance, she gives the man a smile, nodding her head towards the hall. He visually forces himself to take a step forward, holding her gaze until he reaches their bedroom door. Macarena waits until he fully closes it before turning to the brunette at the kitchen’s countertops. 

Zulema had a smirk upon her face, resting her chin upon her fist. She straightens herself when the blonde starts closing the distance between them, contouring the counters before resting her hip beside the woman — the very same place that, somehow, had become their own spot. Macarena traces a hand on the marble, letting her mind flood with the memories before raising light eyes to the woman beside her.

Honey eyes stare right back at her, pupils glowing with mirth and something else. The very same shade that had been haunting her for the past couple of hours — and days. Inevitably, she starts feeling the familiar warmth spread up her chest. 

Even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint exactly when her feelings for the woman had changed. Looking back knowing what she knew now, she starts to wonder if this whole thing had began even before she felt Zulema’s weight dip her bed inside that prison cell all those months ago. 

This dance they played felt older, and inescapable. Their fates had been intertwined the moment she got inside that prison — like a red line, tied to their necks, pulling them together with each step they take, until they were so close their faces were touching, and the only thing left to do is to lean down for a kiss. 

“You never answered my question.” She says, at last.

Zulema raises a brow, throwing her head back to watch the blonde through her eyelashes. Feeling amused at the deja vu. She had been delivering that very same question to the blonde only a few nights ago. “Blonde women had only given me headaches.” 

“Only that?” Macarena tries once again, feeling the frustration growing deep inside her. She was getting tired of walking in the dark when it came to the woman in front of her. 

Zulema watches light eyes harden with a brow raised. She knew what the blonde was asking her. 

Of course she knew.

She had seen the change in Macarena’s eyes. Felt all the times the blonde had traced her skin softly with the tip of her fingers. The woman had never excelled at hiding her feelings from her — she was like an open book, imprinted in her memory, and that particular page had been clear to her the moment the she saw the blonde give in that first night. 

They had spent half their life time together being enemies. She had lost count of how many times she had tried to fuck the blonde’s life. Macarena had been stung by her poison so frequently that her system started to grow a resistance — in the end, Zulema knows the blonde was the only person that had the capacity to share this kind of life with her. She truly had no intentions of letting her go.

Macarena had given her something she would never be able to forget, something she valued over anything in her life. 

Her freedom.

And that had changed things. 

She could feel it, like a never ceasing noise, humming underneath her skin as she stares into Macarena’s eyes — an emotion, whispering at the back of her mind, growing larger with each day, entering her bloodstream like a intruder, coursing through her veins until it reached her heart and wrapped around it so hard she would feel her chest give in under its weight. 

She knows Macarena had become someone she would miss, the blonde had managed to stuff her annoying little nose on her life more than once, and this time, she decided to make room for herself. Fate has always been a bitch to the both of them, bringing them closer together until there would be no other choice.

But.

Her feelings were her own. Whether she wanted the blonde or not inside her life was not something she would simply let Macarena know. They had been enemies, once — but after all this, Zulema thinks she’ll never be able to kill Macarena now. 

And that’s a dangerous thing to admit. A weakness.

Letting out a snort, Zulema puts on an ironic look upon her face, her lips curling into an amused smile before opening her mouth. “What do you expect this is, rubia? Do you think once we steal the necklace, we’ll ride off into the sunset together?”

Macarena feels more frustrated by the second.

“No. What I mean, Zulema, is that, whatever this is? You’re feeling just as affected as I am.” The blonde grunts, her face mere inches from the brunette’s. 

Zulema was simply watching her — face blank despite the fire burning behind honey eyes, the same tenderness she never quite managed to hide before.

The woman’s silence fills the room, until the only sound ringing through Macarena’s ears is the constant drum of her heartbeats. 

She was getting sick of this, she was. 

Falling for the woman had never been her choice. She had thought that if she simply accepted things the way they were, this feeling between them would become much easier, but the truth is: in a relationship with Zulema, you never really stop fighting.

And there’s so much you can fight without knowing if the battle is worth it or not.

Taking a deep breath, Macarena passes a hand through her hair, feeling the room get smaller by the second — Zulema’s presence was starting to feel too much. 

She needs air.

Turning on her heels, the blonde makes her way outside without looking back, the cold night air hitting her cheeks in a pleasant caress. She takes a couple of steps away from the front door before resting her back on the brick wall, crossing her arms tightly against her chest — light eyes lifting to meet the stars twinkling softly against the darkness above her.

She wished she had Sole here. The woman always had the best advices. She would probably tell her to stop wasting her freedom like that, Macarena thinks with a bittersweet laugh. The blonde wished she could ask her what to do now.

The heist was already set, they could not — nor would — back down now. Time was ticking, and she had already planned things to end with a partnership with Zulema, wether they had worked this thing between them or not.

God knows how will be a life by Zulema’s side. And how short.

Letting out a sigh, she briefly closes her eyes, taking in the night air, permitting that the low hum of the waves in the distance calm her down. 

Blinking her eyes open, she frowns when her gaze finds something she didn’t expected.

A parked motorcycle. 

Before her mind could think of any justification, she feels her face explode with pain when a fist meets the right side of her jaw. She has enough time to breathe before another comes. Her head starts feeling heavier, bright spots flickering through her vision.

For a moment, she thinks it had been Zulema — it wouldn’t be the first time the woman had hit her — but after blinking a few times, she sees a man standing in front of her. 

Emílio’s security guard.

He goes for another punch, but she manages to duck in time, hitting him with a jab right at the pit of his stomach. He falters. All those months of boxing in prison certainly did her some good. 

She doesn’t hesitates, aiming for his face this time.

Jab.

Jab.

Cross.

He takes a step back, his mouth bleeding — Good. Just like her’s. 

He spits out an amount of blood before turning his cold eyes to her, letting out a growl before running straight at her. Not expecting it, she freezes long enough to allow him to wrap his huge arms around her waist, using his momentum to tackle her to the ground. Her head hits the pavement hard, seeing different kind of stars explode behind her eyelids.

The man turns her face down towards the floor before slithering his arm around her neck, trapping her into a armlock — tight. 

She can’t breathe. 

His weight is heavy on top of her, pressing her whole body on the floor, the hard material of the ground poking through her dress. 

She starts scratching his arms in a desperate attempt to make him let go of her, legs kicking out in panic — lungs burning inside her chest.

He doesn’t let go. 

“Just black out, beautiful. Can’t wrinkle the gift too bad.” He mutters against her ear, his breath hot against her palling skin, feeling colder by the second. Her eyes start closing, mind sinking into unconscious. 

Suddenly, he lets her go. 

Air fills up her lungs in a desperate gasp. Going on all fours, she starts coughing — hand going up to her neck. 

Raising her gaze, she can’t believe her eyes.

Zulema had pushed the man off of her, throwing herself on top of him, trapping his head between both hands before closing her teeth angrily against his neck — the man was screaming in pain, grabbing the brunette’s hair in a fist, trying to pull her away from him. 

The scene briefly reminded her of a documentary she saw as a kid, about animals that lived in Africa’s savannah. She had been enchanted how in a pack of lions, usually it was the lioness that hunted for prey. Seeing Zulema now, she couldn’t help but compare it to the way the feline’s teeth would close upon the gazelle’s neck — a death trap.

When she was little, she had pitied the poor animal’s fate. But now, watching Zulema almost tear a piece off the man’s skin, she kind of understands why in nature, violence is ever so present.

With a thrust of his hips, the man manages to push the brunette to the side, giving his arm room enough to let him throw a nasty swing against the woman’s face. Zulema lets his neck go with a growl, falling back on the floor. He doesn’t hesitates, straddling her, punching her face continuously, one fist after the other.

Macarena feels something inside her burn, hot flames slithering through the skin over her chest, traveling down her arms, until it reaches the palm of her hands. In a moment, everything stops, time slowing down until the only thing she can hear is the shallow sound of her breath.

Her eyes follow every swing of his arm as she rises to her feet. Never breaking her gaze as she bends over and closes her fingers around a rock, her feet closing the distance between them by their own accord. 

His fist raises in the air one last time before she throws a brutal swing against his head. 

He falls instantly on the floor. 

She doesn’t stop there — she couldn’t. Just like a lioness that only stops when the prey ceases movement, her heart was scorching through her clothes with a necessity very similar.

Pulling up her dress around her hip, she straddles him, watching him lazily blink his eyes at her with a strange calmness settling over her body. 

His head and neck are forming a pool of blood on the ground beneath him — Macarena stops to admire it for a moment, the dark rich red turning almost black underneath the low light of the cottage’s lamps. 

Letting out a sigh, she turns her gaze back to him, closing the rock tightly against her fist.

“First, that’s not how you treat a woman.” 

A punch.

“Second, I am nobody’s gift.” 

Another.

“And third” She takes a deep breath, ignoring the way her arm was shaking. “There is only one person that can touch Zulema like that, and that person isn’t you.” 

She finishes, swigging the rock down one more time. 

He stops moving. 

Zulema rises to her feet beside her, bending to give the man an angry spat before hastily brush the blood off her chin. Green eyes falling on the blonde figure on top of him. 

Macarena had a somber look upon her face, staring unblinkingly at the limp body beneath her, rock still closed tightly around her fist.

Raising a hand, slender fingers wrap themselves around the blonde’s arm in a grip, giving the limb a brief shake, snapping Macarena out of her thoughts. She blinks once, twice, before lifting light eyes to meet hers. 

Her face was smeared with blood, cheek beginning to purple — her expression was blank, but Zulema could see the storm that was happening behind her gaze. 

She was impressed, truly.

When it came to situations such as these, usually the blonde herself was the first one to raise the flag of godliness — a fucking messiah, “thou shall not kill” and all that jazz. 

But look at her now. 

Zulema lets a smirk grace her face, giving the blonde a firm nod — she was proud. Macarena stares at her for a moment before the corner of her lip starts curling, matching her smile.

Letting out a surprised laugh, Zulema shakes her head briefly, feeling the familiar hum underneath her skin get louder — thumb tracing lazy circles on the blonde’s arm. 

Macarena gives her a comprehensive look, lifting her hand to cover the brunette’s intuitively — her mind running once again as she watches the familiar honey shade burn behind Zulema’s eyes. 

Suddenly, she feels like a piece is clicking back into place. For a moment, colors turn into meaning, and she realizes this is the closest to a confession she will ever receive from the brunette. 

She should have known that Zulema wouldn’t simply give her the pleasure of knowing how exactly this thing between them had affected her — being the authentic _hija de puta_ that she was. 

Falling for the brunette had been an erosion process that had started a long time ago, slowly degrading the walls between them, until the barrier became so thin she could feel Zulema’s warmth as she passed a hand through it. 

Watching her now, she realizes she had never entered those waters alone. 

The brunette was right on the other side of the barrier, following the same patterns as her, matching her movements like a mirror — she mentally laughs when she remembers that, in the end, Altagracia’s words were right. 

Destinies intertwined. 

She gives Zulema a knowing smirk — which she drops instantly when the abrupt sound of a front door opening makes the both of them jump apart. 

Fabio steps outside with a shotgun in his arms, the rest of the men following him close behind.

Getting near them, his eyes flicker between Macarena, the man underneath her and the brunette beside her — making two plus two and deciding she must be the cause of all this, pointing his gun to Zulema’s chest.

“Put the gun down, Fabio.” The blonde says, dropping the bloody rock on the floor before raising angry eyes to meet his. 

“What the fuck happened here, Macarena?” He exclaims, giving her a confused look, but doing as she says.

Letting out a sigh, Macarena lifts a hand to pass through her hair, before realizing it was covered in blood, deciding to simply close it into a fist upon her lap — the movement reminding her that she’s still sitting on top of the man she just killed. Her mind must be processing things a little slower after receiving a couple of punches to the face. 

Getting to her feet, she steps over the body to get closer to Fabio before meeting his eyes once again.

“Security breach.” 

“What?” 

“That’s Emílio’s personal guard, one of them, at least. Number six, maybe?” 

“Macarena, you’re not making any sense.” 

“Emílio sent him after me, Fabio.” She sighs, briefly blinking her eyes to Zulema’s before giving the man in front of her a tense smile. 

“Emílio talked to me when I went down the stairs. He seemed infatuated with me. Which ended up to be true, hence the dead guard — she waves a hand to the limp body on the floor — I was supposed to be the gift, apparently.” 

She finishes explaining with a sigh, suddenly feeling really tired, counting the seconds for this conversation to be over. 

Fabio’s face was a battle of emotions — confusion, worry and anger, which one ruled first. 

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before? I asked you if anything had happened and you told me nothing had.” He exclaims, his voice going louder with each syllable — the anger, apparently, winning.

Macarena was starting to feel a headache setting behind her eyes — both of them this time. She doesn’t know if Fabio’s presence finally managed to unlock a new area of her brain for her to feel pain, or the guard’s beating had done more damage than she expected. 

“It wasn’t an issue before.” 

“It wasn’t an _issue_?” He gives her a bitter laugh, not believing what was happening in front of his eyes. The blonde had an amazing capacity of attracting problems to herself. “You killed his guard. Emílio’s guard. Don’t you realize the pile of shit you just stepped on?”

“It was either him or me, Fabio. Where were you when he was choking me half to death?” She asks him, turning the situation back to him. She was too tired to discuss this right now. 

Fabio falters, not expecting to receive that reaction from her. His gaze flickering between her eyes, visually making an effort to try to understand her. 

“This body needs to be dealt with.” Gary says, his calm voice breaking through the tension in the air. 

Fabio blinks his eyes once — bringing his focus back to the situation at hand. He gives the body on the floor a look before turning to the quiet man with a nod. 

They truly needed to solve this before things start getting worse.

“Well, men, our night just got a lot more interesting, right? Come, brother, help me with the legs.” Valentín says, positioning himself by the man’s lower members. 

“I — what? Are you serious?” Cristían asks, incredulous. Touching a dead body was exactly the last thing he wanted to do right now. 

“Do you suggest we carry this enormous man by ourselves?” Valentín snorts, a brow raised in question. 

Opening and closing his mouth like a fish, Cristían shuts his teeth audibly before taking a deep breath, joining his brother by the man’s legs. 

“I’ll stay with Macarena, you guys can take the van and—” 

“No.” 

Fabio turns to the blonde, confused.

“You should go with them. You were a cop, Fabio. You’ll know what to do.” Macarena most certainly couldn’t handle him or those worried puppy eyes being thrown at her at the moment.

“They can handle themselves just fine—“ 

“I want you to go.” She interrupts him, her voice firm. 

He turns to her with a frown, a bewildered — and almost hurtful — look upon his face. Surely the woman would be needing him after being almost killed by that guard. 

Wouldn’t she?

Macarena gives him a serious look, the blood on her cheeks making her face look more somber than he had ever seen. He hesitates, his mind torn between doing as she wishes and what he believes is right. 

Staring at her eyes, he founds a coldness inside them he wasn’t used to see. The blonde, suddenly, looked many miles far away from him — a distance that was starting to feel like he was slowly letting Macarena slip through his fingers.

With a sigh, her stops looking at her, deciding that his presence wasn’t being wanted. Taking a step closer to the van, he opens its large back doors before waving the men to drop the body inside.

The three men close their hands over the guard’s members before lifting him in unison — placing the heavy figure at the back of the van before closing it.

After all of them step inside the car, Fabio lingers back for a moment, hand on the door’s handle, meeting Macarena’s eyes one last time before taking a sit behind the wheel. 

With a turn of keys, the engine roars alive — the noise echoing through the silence. The blonde watches the van make a turn before drive away from the cottage and into the night. 

She waits until the two little white lights vanish down the road before start making her way back inside, not bothering to check if Zulema will follow her or not — she doesn’t need to.

Stepping inside the bathroom, Macarena clicks the light on, positioning herself in front of the sink to take a look at her reflection in the mirror. 

Her face was a mess. 

Blood and dirt were staining her skin, a bruise already starting to form where the guard had punched her, along with an angry-looking purple line cutting through her neck. 

Turning the tap on, she cups her hands under the water, bending down to wash her face. The liquid feels cold against her hot skin, becoming red as it falls through her fingers and twirls down the drain. 

Straightening herself back up, she opens her eyes to find green ones staring at her through the mirror’s reflection.

Zulema had her shoulder resting against the door’s threshold, chin smeared with blood — one or two bruises starting to join the preexistent collection around her face. 

The woman watches her for a second before taking a step inside the room, joining her in front of the sink. Zulema holds her gaze as she wets her hand under the open stream, cleaning the blood from her mouth. 

Macarena’s eyes follows her movements before meeting her stare again, feeling the familiar burn rise up inside her chest. 

Watching her now, Macarena realizes that after everything, this was how things were supposed to go.

With her and Zulema, getting bloody together. 

Despite her multiple attempts of fighting it, fate always managed to bring them back together — like a string, attached to their hearts, stretching till its limit before pulling them back close again. 

Forever bound.

Hesitating for only a second, she lifts her hand to curl it over the woman’s cheek. 

Zulema doesn’t shrug her hand off, nor changes her face in any way, simply letting it be, slowly warming up the cold skin underneath her palm — honey eyes burning with an intensity uncharacteristically soft.

She truly never knew what to do when Zulema gave her those eyes, so she does what she always had done. 

Raising the other hand, she sinks her fingers into dark locks, forming a fist before pulling the woman’s face close, crashing their lips together.

Zulema reacts instantly, grasping the blonde’s hip in a fierce grip, pushing her harshly against the sink, flushing their bodies together.

Macarena feels her mind in a haze, latching onto the woman’s hair in a white knuckled grip, feeling herself sink further into Zulema. 

Cold hands start ascending, roaming through her waist, around her back until slender fingers curl themselves around the zipper of her dress, slowly pulling the piece down. 

Lifting her hands up to the blonde’s shoulders, Zulema momentarily breaks the kiss to start pushing the fabric down her arms — nails leaving a hurtful trail, making her gasp. The dress falls limply on the floor, leaving her almost bare. 

Zulema doesn’t hesitates before stepping closer once again, wrapping blonde locks into a fist, joining their lips together again in a hungry kiss, swallowing Macarena’s moans into her mouth. 

The blonde raises her fingers to undress the woman as well, pulling the zipper down with a brutal strength, almost tearing Zulema’s clothes off, pushing the fabric angrily, needing to feel the brunette closer — nails pressing the skin hard enough to leave red angry lines over her arms and back.

They had always been like this, she thinks. With both hate and affection melting into each other. There was too much history between them to love each other softly — every touch reminding them of a punch. Every kiss, a betrayal. 

Her and Zulema were forever destined to leave marks on each other’s lives, in every way possible. Sleeping together certainly shouldn’t be any different. 

With a pull of her wrist, Zulema knocks the blonde’s head back to descend her mouth down her slender neck, teeth scraping against the soft skin, marking her, before closing her lips around her pulse point, leaving an open-mouthed kiss.

Macarena senses a shiver run down her spine, blinking her eyes closed — feeling the familiar warmth around her chest melting, heat sliding down her body, spreading, before accumulating in the space between her thighs.

Zulema’s touch was intoxicating, she wanted to feel it everywhere. Bringing her lips to the woman’s ear, she lets out a deep moan — intentional — her hips grinding against the woman’s in front of her. 

The reaction is immediate. 

The brunette grasps her neck into a grip, lifting her face to watch Macarena’s — an amused smirk gracing her lips. She knew what the blonde was doing, and what she wanted, but she always enjoyed to make her squirm a little.

Trailing a hand down the woman’s chest, she grasps Macarena’s breast around her fingers, palming the skin roughly, feeling the blonde’s gasps warm against her lips — her hips moving once again. 

Tightening her hold against the blonde’s neck, she pushes her hand further down, slender fingers leaving a hot trail through her skin, before curving down between the woman’s legs. 

Macarena moans as she softly rubs her over the fabric of her underwear, light enough to make the blonde hastily scratch down her back in frustration. 

_Hija de puta._

The blonde lets out a groan, her hips grinding harder against the woman’s hand. God, how she hated her. Opening her eyes back again, she meets honey ones with an enraged gaze. 

Zulema lets out a chuckle, her lips pulled back into a smirk. She gives the woman a hard kiss before pushing her panties aside and sliding two fingers inside her — swallowing her scream into her mouth. 

Macarena’s hips grind against her hand, meeting each thrust eagerly, pushing it deeper. 

Ripping the brunette’s hand from her neck, the blonde bends to rest her cheek over Zulema’s shoulder, arms raising to wrap themselves around the woman — feeling the tension inside her starting to build. 

She closes her fingers around dark locks, gripping the hair tightly as she feels the pressure get unbearable, nails leaving harsh marks down her back — hips grinding harder, deeper.

Suddenly, she comes, a deep moan leaving her lips as she grasps Zulema’s bare shoulders — feeling the hot waves of pleasure coursing through her. 

With one final thrust, Macarena feels her entire body collapse, falling forward against the brunette, feeling Zulema’s arm slither around her waist, supporting her. 

Taking a deep breath, the blonde lifts her head, light eyes meeting honey ones. 

Zulema had a smirk upon her face, watching her with her head thrown back, holding her gaze as she slowly pulls her fingers out — inevitably, Macarena lets out a soft moan at the movement. 

The brunette lets out an amused laugh, the sound making red hot anger flash through her heart. 

Standing straighter to her feet, Macarena grabs the woman by her neck before turning them around, pushing her harshly against the sink. Zulema hisses at the sudden pain going up her back, closing her fingers tightly around the blonde’s wrist — nails pressing hard on the skin.

Macarena had an intense look upon her face, light eyes burning her skin as she takes in the scene in front of her. 

Being Zulema’s lover was almost the same thing as being her enemy. Always a battle of power. The lines between fighting and fucking blur pretty easily when it came to the brunette — never really permitting the blonde the pleasure of seeing her completely giving in. 

But that night, Macarena had discovered her little secret.

She finally understood the intensity glowing behind honey eyes, and now, she refused to let Zulema keep that particular satisfaction from her. 

Tightening her hold, she bends forward to close her teeth upon her slender neck, biting down hard enough to make Zulema hiss — the grip on her wrist squeezing, most certainly leaving a bruise. 

Descending a hand through her body, she closes her fingers around the brunette’s underwear, ripping the fabric off before roughly sliding two fingers inside her. 

Zulema throws her head back, eyes closing as she feels each thrust, nails leaving a trail down the blonde’s arm, reaching her shoulders in a hard grip — uncomfortable — cutting the skin. 

The pain makes Macarena picks up her pace, digging her fingers deeper, until she can hear a soft moan leave Zulema’s lips — unintentional — making the blonde smirk. 

Without warning, Macarena stops. Light eyes patiently watching for green ones to open themselves back again — glowing with rage — before dropping her hand from Zulema’s neck and getting on her knees. 

Lifting the woman’s leg upon her shoulder, Macarena closes her mouth between the woman’s thighs, rubbing her with her tongue as she resumes thrusting her fingers back inside her.

Zulema grabs her hair into a tight fist, nails scrapping her scalp, before letting out a deep moan, hips grinding over her face — finally, surrendering herself. 

She fucks her until she feels her arm get sore and her jaw stiff — pushing her fingers deeper as she hears Zulema’s moans get louder, her breath faster, the hands on her hair gripping tighter as her orgasm courses through her body. 

She never got used to watch the brunette that way — always a sight she refused to blink each time, taking in everything, burning the image into her memory. 

Zulema had her mouth opened in pleasure, head thrown back, leaving her slender neck exposed, hips still twisting over her fingers — letting out a final sigh before she stops.

Dropping the woman’s leg, Macarena rises to her feet, choosing to place her hands around the woman’s hips. 

“Seems like blonde woman can give you more than headaches.” 

Zulema lets out a snort, opening her eyes to look at the woman through her eyelashes — a smirk starting to curl upon her lips. 

Lifting a hand, she gently pats Macarena’s cheek, nails lightly scratching the skin underneath, honey colored eyes roaming through her face as a surprised laugh leaves her lips. 

Macarena joins her, letting a smile grace her face. 

How strange it was, the way fate worked. She never imagined things would end up like this, with her hands wrapped around Zulema’s hips as her slender fingers gently played with the blonde locks behind her ear. 

Macarena lets out a sigh when a memory resurges at the back of her mind — Fabio and the rest of the men surely should be returning by now. Taking a step back, she gives the skin one last squeeze before dropping her hands, curling them into fists by her side. 

Time to return to reality. 

Meeting honey eyes once again, she gives the woman a tight smile before opening her mouth. “We should take a shower and get to bed. You can use this one, I’ll use the one in my room.” 

Zulema simply raises a brow at her, a smirk prolonging upon her lips — eyes squinting a little. 

With one final sigh, Macarena suppresses the wish to tear that smirk off her face — an effort — before forcing her ankles to make a turn and step outside the bathroom, entering her room without looking back.

— - —

With a loud bang, the front door closes behind Fabio as he steps inside the house. 

He looked as bad as the men in front of him — clothes stained with dirt and dried blood, skin giving off a constant smell of burned wood from the bonfire they had to make to burn the body. He had made sure they only left until he could see the fire had been hot enough to erase any lasting evidences that could give off the man’s identity.

Macarena watches them get inside with a hand resting upon her hip — after taking a shower, she had decided she could use some tea to help her sleep, the ghost of Zulema’s fingers still lingering between her legs making falling a sleep three times harder than usual.

“I swear to God, Fabio, that’s the last time I do something like that.” Cristían exclaims, passing a dirty hand through his face in a tired manner. He looked fatigued, his eyes laking the usual characteristic energy.

“If everything works out from now on, we won’t have too.”Fabio says, a hand massaging the back of his neck. He takes a second to notice Macarena’s presence in the room — his eyes turning back to those big brown worried ones the second he does. 

She swallows down a sigh, focusing back to the kettle heating up in front of her. 

With a wave of his hand, he tells the men to leave the room. He doesn't receive a single word of complaint — all of them going willingly into each respective bedroom. 

Stepping closer to her, Fabio raises a hand to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. He had a frown upon his face, his lips forming a downward curve, he lets out a sigh before opening his mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Emílio, Macarena?” He asks her, his voice quieter than usual. 

Turning off the stove, she closes her fingers around his hand on her chin. “I didn’t want you to worry, Fabio. It wasn’t an issue.” 

“Well, it clearly was, Macarena. The man sent his security guard to take you. Do you know what that means?” 

Passing a hand through her hair, she hold his gaze as her mind runs through memories she wished she had forgotten. “Another Sandoval.” 

“Precisely. And now that you killed his guard, there will be no one to return the message to his boss. And you read the same file as I did, Macarena, you know Emílio is revengeful, he won’t simply accept that.” 

Finally letting out a sigh, she shares a worried look with him. She knew that a retaliation was inside the realm of possibilities when it came to the Spanish’s mob boss. Emílio wasn’t an easy person, with an ego easily wounded. He will most certainly take this as an act of war. 

Time was ticking, faster than she imagined. 

Raising a hand to his cheek, she gives him a tense smile. “Then we need to prepare ourselves for the worst.” 

— - —

A couple of hours later, Macarena bolts upright in bed with her stomach rolling over itself. 

She takes several deep breaths, fighting the sudden queasiness rising up her throat, her body heaving so heavily that the man beside her is shaken awake, turning worried brown eyes to her. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up beside her to brush a hand through her back, the movement uncomfortable over the shirt glued to her skin — wet from her sweat. 

Swallowing down the acid accumulating behind her tongue, she meets his eyes with a frown upon her face. “I’m feeling sick, Fabio.” 

He gives her a pat on her back, it was meant to be reassuring, but she only feels more nauseous. “It was probably all the hits you head took. It could have caused a minor contusion. Do you want to throw up?” He asks, getting ready to leave and grab her a bucket.

Lifting a hand to stop him, she gives him a tight smile. “No Fabio, I’m feeling better now. You can go back to sleep.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, please. Go back to sleep.” 

He hesitates for a second, giving her body a final once-over before rolling to his side, instantly falling asleep.

Macarena waits until she sees his breath even out before letting the panic look take over her face, heart racing inside her chest.

This sickness felt familiar — she thinks, lifting a hand to cover her ventre.

And if what she's thinking is true, then things are about to change.

Drastically. 

— - —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, what did you guys think? ahhahaah
> 
> Things are starting come to a close, don't you think? 
> 
> I worked really hard to post this chapter before Monday comes, because, let me tell you, I am already dying just to imagine about that episode. 
> 
> May the directors be kind to our hearts tomorrow (If not, there's always Fanfiction, hahaha) 
> 
> Warm hugs!


	12. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(to the stars) **the moon** pleaded:_
> 
> _stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearests, I promise you something: My Zulema will have a happy ending. Trust me when I tell you that. My Macarena will choose Zulema. My Zulema will choose life, and love, and family. 
> 
> May these words help you heal, and forget the wounds that ridiculous director caused on us. Warm hugs to each one of you, and a kiss. Love each one of you, thank you for all the love you guys gave me so far.
> 
> Also, this chapter will be Macarena centered, but we will have some Zurena at the end, and just a splash of plot, hahaha. I consider this chapter as the calm before the storm, so nothing really happens, more to give our two love fools a closure before heading to the chaos that will be the last one. *wink wink*

The sound of crying makes Macarena open her eyes.

It was a pitch tone — brief enough to resonate at the hollow of her ears as she sits up in bed, light eyes scanning the bedroom around her, looking for anything that might show her its origin.

Nothing. She’s alone. 

Watching the place beside her, she frowns. She wasn’t alone when she laid down that night. Catching movement through the corner of her eyes, she turns her gaze to the window, the line between her eyebrows sinking deeper at what she finds there.

Snow.

Falling snow.

In a heartbeat, she pulls the sheets back to throw her legs out — feet meeting the cold floor with a gasp. Standing up, she makes her way through the unusually quiet house, arms wrapping around her elbows, heading straight to the balcony and out onto the sand.

She raises her gaze up with a frown, feeling puzzled. Her eyes follow the little white particles falling from the sky, softly descending from the dark heavy clouds above, dancing in lazy circles around her. Stretching a hand in front of her, she catches a couple of snowflakes into her palm — pulling it closer to her face to inspect it, letting out a gasp once she does. 

It wasn’t snow.

It was ash. 

Ashes falling from the sky. 

Closing her hand into a fist, she clutches it close to her chest when she starts feeling a crumpling fear accumulate around her heart. She wasn’t cold anymore. In fact, the temperature was suddenly extremely high — her back was warming up by the second, red hot heat licking through her skin, coursing through her clothes like a lover’s hand, a scorching breath brushing against her neck. 

Turning around, she lets out a cry.

The cottage was on fire. 

Bright hot flames blazing in front of her, englobing the whole structure, consuming every inch of wood, brick and stone. And inevitably, everything inside.

Before she could fully process what was going on in front of her, she hears the crying again. This time, coming from behind her. 

Tentatively turning back around, her eyes catches something that wasn’t there before.

A crib.

The crying gets louder.

She starts stepping towards the sound, holding her breath, mentally willing her heart to stop hammering against her chest — a plead that, inevitably, reaches deaf ears. Heart tripling its beat the second her eyes catches what’s inside it.

A baby.

No.

_Her son._

He was stirring inside the crib, clearly troubled. Little hands reaching out to her, seeking to be held — tiny ashes falling around him, covering him in a grey fluff.

Tears well up in her eyes as she bends forward to take him into her arms, curving a hand around his head, bringing him close to her chest. He stops crying immediately, his chubby limbs wrapping around her neck, burying his face into her shoulder. 

Macarena feels her heart bust out of her chest, softly brushing his back and head, kissing his cheek, eyes, forehead, anything she could reach — tears rolling down her face, taking in a deep breath to let his sweet perfume enter her lungs. 

Suddenly, a shiver runs down her spine.

She’s being watched.

Lifting her gaze, light eyes meet green ones in front of her. Zulema was standing a couple of feet ahead of her, head tilted to the side, simply staring at her. 

Intuitively, she clutches her child closer to her chest.

The brunette gives her a smirk before stepping forward, starting to close the distance between them. Macarena watches her approach with unblinking eyes, twisting her trunk to the side, keeping her child away from the woman. 

She won’t loose him again.

Taking one final step, Zulema stands only a few inches away from her, near enough for her to feel her shirt brush against the skin of her arm — curved in front of her to support her child against her chest in a protective embrace.

She holds her stare, straightening her back. Macarena won’t let the woman touch her son this time. Not again. She wouldn’t be able to bear. 

Zulema watches her for a second before raising a cold hand to her cheek. The blonde freezes, not expecting it. Slender fingers brush the skin softly — thumb gently tracing the line of her cheekbone, down towards her mouth, parting her lips, before returning. 

In a second, Macarena feels the tension around her shoulders drop, letting out a sigh. Raising a hand to cover the brunette’s upon her cheek, she gives the woman a soft smile.

Lips curling into a gentle smirk, Zulema bends to drop a kiss on top her son’s head, before laying another upon the blonde's mouth. Macarena closes her eyes, feeling her heart bust once again, hand lifting to curl around the woman’s neck, pulling her closer. 

In a flash, it’s gone. 

Blinking her eyes open, she finds keen green ones staring at something behind her back. Feeling a flash of fear run through her chest, she curves her hand around her son’s back before turning around.

It was Fabio. 

He was standing a couple of feet in front of them, back to the fire, an angry look upon his face. His eyes were reflecting the flames behind him, turning brown into a blazing red — unnatural — burning holes upon her skin. 

“You chose her?” He screams, the sound loud enough to make the whole beach shake upon her feet — like thunder exploding across the night sky, so sudden it makes her heart skip a beat, insides turning cold with fear. 

He had a shotgun in his hands and she knew he was going to use it. 

She knew. 

Taking a step back, she feels her back flush against Zulema’s chest. The woman curves her fingers around Macarena’s arms in a fierce grip, face bending to drop a warm kiss at the back of her neck before pushing the blonde to the side, stepping in front of her — putting a distance between the both of them and Fabio, hiding them with her body.

Macarena closes a desperate fist upon the woman’s shirt, watching Fabio with wide eyes over the brunette’s shoulder — arm clutching her child closer to her chest.

The movement seems to fill up Fabio even more, mouth opening into a snarl, fingers clicking the shotgun in place. 

He starts heading straight towards them — every step, a thunder, reverberating through her heart. He seemed to be growing larger with each step — back curving, mouth getting wider, eyes sinking into his face until only red flames were staring at her. 

Her child starts screaming inside her arms.

“You chose her!” He shouts, taking the final three steps to reach them. At this distance, she could feel the heat coming from flames inside him, the high temperature making it harder to breathe. 

She feels suffocated. 

Fabio's face had twisted into something she could not recognize anymore, a profound grimace, burning. His skin was pulsating. Twisting and turning right in front of her eyes. The sound of his voice became the only constant — the familiar angry tone echoing inside her eardrums, entering her head like a rabid dog, louder than ever, tearing and ripping everything in its path. 

With a swift movement, he raises the shotgun to Zulema’s chest — the barrel pointing directly at her heart.

She feels her breath stop.

“It’s either me, or nothing, Macarena. I thought you knew that.” He says, before pulling the trigger.

Macarena bolts upright in bed with a scream dying inside her throat.

Putting a hand over her mouth, the blonde scans the room around her desperately, the shot from the gun still ringing in her ears. Intuitively, she flinches when her gaze finds the sleeping man beside her — mind briefly conjuring the memory of his eyes burning, lips curled into a snarl, shotgun in his hands. 

Covering her face with her palms, she takes a deep breath, mentally willing her heart to stop the frenetic drumming inside her chest. She had spent the whole night staring at the ceiling, mind running with what might be growing inside her venter — she doesn’t remember the moment a blink turned into restless sleep.

Lifting her head, she blinks her eyes to the bedroom window — letting out a relieved sigh when instead of falling ashes, she finds the tranquil sea on the horizon, waves roaring a muted hum, slowly calming her down. The sun hasn’t went up yet, light rays shinning timidly over the ocean line, turning the sky into a deep blue. 

She must have had only a couple hours of sleep — and if her still heavy head confirmed her anything, it did nothing to help her body rest. Passing a hand through her hair, she lets out another sigh, feeling the familiar headache pulsate behind her eyes. 

It wasn’t the first time her brain had conjured vivid dreams to scare her awake. 

Back in prison, she had had experienced them before — envisioning herself lying on a lone bed at the center of the main courtyard, desperately trying to scream, to be heard. That day, she had killed her father’s murderer, and inevitably, a part of herself. 

She had started feeling an emptiness brewing inside her, changing her insides, turning them a different color. It was subtle process — only being visible in rare moments. Moments such as last night. 

She had killed again. And yet, felt nothing. 

That guard's death didn’t touch her the way it should, passing through her mind without leaving a single trace — unfazed. 

Her brain had conjured something entirely different to scare her awake tonight. 

She had dreamt about Zulema before, merely a couple of nights ago, with the woman’s face turning into a huge snake, swallowing her whole. She truly wasn’t lying when she told Fabio the woman didn’t scare her anymore — that Macarena died a long time ago. 

But, every now and then, her mind enjoyed playing a few tricks on her — whispering emotions long forgotten inside her head, turning feelings into images, telling her truths she was reluctant to see.

This night's dream, however, had been different.

Macarena had felt it before she had accepted it — the change. The warmth wrapping around her heart, making her wish things she shouldn’t, dream things she couldn’t have. 

It seemed strange to her that her mind would visualize the woman that way. Zulema would never fit into this, she thinks, with a family. A couple of hours ago, not even Macarena would have picture _herself_ in that situation — after all, that was the button she kept mentally pressing whenever Fabio brought up the subject of building a family together: that she wasn’t made for this anymore. 

And yet. 

Here she was. 

Revaluing everything she believed, twisting her thoughts into something she would never imagine that she would want after stepping through Cruz del Sul’s gates all those years ago — and alongside the person that made her life much more miserable while inside it.

It was true, the thought of her and Zulema in a relationship wasn’t something she could picture easily — but she would be lying if the brunette she saw in her mind didn’t made her heart skip a beat. 

She knows she shouldn’t want this. 

Zulema had been responsible for so much tragedy in her life — her first pregnancy’s miscarriage included. The both of them had managed to mark each other’s body so many times that it became almost impossible to distinguish normal skin to scar tissue. But in the end, despite of every nasty sentiment she has for the woman, she can’t really picture a future with any one else. 

They had clawed themselves into each other’s heart — brutally ripping through the flesh — burying their hands so deeply it became impossible to take it out without leaving a gaping hole.

And now, with a child, things could change. 

Passing a hand through her face, Macarena shakes herself out of her thoughts — she needed to turn doubts into facts. 

Sooner rather than later. 

Pulling the sheets back, she pushes her legs out, standing on her feet. Macarena dresses herself quietly — a simple long-sleeved turtleneck, jeans, and boots — before moving across the room on the tip of her toes, not desiring to wake Fabio, and making her way out the door.

The house was silent, pretty much like her dream, but instead of the soul-chilling coldness coursing through her limbs, the ambient was comfortably warm — the rising sun rays giving the room a golden haze. 

Grabbing the van’s keys, she steps outside the cottage, heading towards the parked car. 

With a turn of her wrist, the engine roars alive. Putting on the first gear, she turns the wheel and drives down the dirt road. 

The sun was starting to fully rise on the horizon — glowing over the sea line to her right, golden rays breeching through the van’s glass windows, giving the skin of her cheek a warm kiss as she rides towards the nearest village. 

She had missed this, Macarena thinks, driving alone. 

She had forgotten how peaceful it was to ride through the country side, trees and brushes roaming through both sides of the road, the only sound reaching her ears being the rushed whispers of the wind blowing outside the window. 

After contacting Fabio a month ago, she never really had a moment like this again. She had needed to make him believe her sentiment for him was true, so expending every breathing second beside him was a must. But, she had not expected to have him actually make sure it truly was every single one. 

Letting out a sigh, she parks the van on the side of the road when her eyes catches the sight of the familiar looking village — the same one she had visited with Fabio a couple of days ago to buy drinks, and books, for the bonfire. It was the closest thing to a market within the cottage’s reach, being surrounded by rural emptiness for miles. 

The place looked pretty much the same — as most country villages do, with time passing slowly, blending days together until it became a giant blur. The main square still had the diverse stands circling around it, the elderly folk walking in and out of their houses, living a peaceful life she knew she could never have. 

Macarena remembers that the last time she was here, she saw something looking pretty similar to a pharmacy. Leaving the van, she makes her way through the village's square — light eyes scanning around her for anything that resembled what she was searching for. 

The moment her gaze finds the familiar looking house, she heads straight towards it. Stepping inside it, she gives the room a look around. It was a pretty simple looking shop, more similar to a living room than an actual pharmacy — the walls covered with bookshelves, but instead of literature, medicine. 

To her right, stood a humble looking cashier counter, made of wood, with a kind looking old woman sitting behind it — she had not noticed Macarena’s presence just yet, eyes focussed on the piece of crochet lying in front of her, deeply engrossed in the twisting and turning of the long needles inside her hands. 

Taking the opportunity to search without being bothered, she starts roaming through the shelves, light eyes scrutinizing each and every medicine package — reaching the far end of the room, she finds what she was looking for.

Pregnancy tests.

There was only one brand, the simplest one, she guesses. Taking two into her hands, she heads to the cashier — only pausing briefly to palm a few nausea meds as well.

Stepping in front of the old lady, Macarena waits a second or two before kind eyes raise to meet with hers. Giving the blonde a gentle smile, she puts her crochet down. “Oh, Hello, dear. Haven’t seen you there. You know how these country shops are, nothing really happens — she laughs, waving a hand in front of her — You new here?”

Macarena pulls her lips into a smile, expressing a calmness she wasn’t really feeling. “I actually visited here a couple of days ago, to buy some drinks.” She answers, placing the packages on the countertop.

“Oh that’s lovely. My husband sells those, maybe you’ve met him? Roberto?” The woman asks. 

Making an effort not to nudge the pregnancy test forward in hope to bring the woman’s attention back to the matter at hand, she pulls a smile on her face. “Yes, I’ve met him. Old soldier, right?”

“That’s him.” She says, finally bringing her gaze down to the items in front of her.

“Oh, you’re pregnant?”

“Need to make sure, but yes. I believe so.”

The old lady gives her a warm smile. “Oh, how beautiful it is to be young and starting a family.” She says, making a few quick notes on the notebook beside her before finally placing her purchases into plastic bags. “That will be eight euros, darling.”

Macarena hands her the money before taking the bags — her fingers curling the material into a tight grip. 

She just wanted to leave. 

“Does the baby have a father?”

The question makes the blonde pause, her grasp around the bag getting stronger — knuckles turning white. She knows it was an easy question. Yes, of course the baby had a father, it needed one to exist. But, still, she felt the subject carried a heavier meaning than that. 

The old lady in front of starts giving her a crocked smile at her silence, visually regretting ever opening her mouth in the first place. 

Noticing her discomfort, Macarena puts on a fake smile. “Yes. And he will be extremely happy to find out.” 

Only half a lie.

The woman lets out a relieved sigh, lips returning to the kind smile she had shined Macarena before. “Then, I’m really happy for you. You will make a beautiful family.”

In a flash, her mind resurges the memory of the dream she had earlier that day —her son nested inside her arms, Zulema giving his little head a kiss before placing one upon her own lips. 

Pushing the thought away, the blonde returns the woman’s smile. “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

Not waiting for a reply, she hastily steps outside and walks back to the van, feeling her heartbeat double its beat inside her chest. Closing the door soundly, she turns the engine on, impatiently turning the van around, before heading back towards cottage.

One third of the way back, instead of driving straight ahead, she makes a sharp left, changing her path. She feels her body shake as the car’s wheels leave the pavement and stumbles upon the dirt ground — the uneven floor making it hard for her to keep a firm grip around the steering wheel. After a couple of minutes, she parks the van when her gaze finds what she was looking for.

A camping trailer. 

She had bought it on impulse, really. 

After getting out of jail, and moving into the cottage, her mind had started running over the concept of what truly meant to be free. Back then, half of her time had been reserved to plan a heist — this heist — and the idea of buying a trailer only came when she realized, if she survived, she might have no where else to go after accomplishing it.

She had parked it only a couple of miles away from the cottage, far away enough to keep it hidden, but close enough to remind her she could simply drop everything, step inside it, and vanish.

A trailer was perfect. Little enough to keep moving, large enough to build a home.

The warm picture she had created only started to crumble after realizing she would need to share it with Zulema. Back then, she had been making an effort in forgetting the woman, doing everything possible to remove the grasp she had closed around her heart. 

But now, her mind was stubbornly picturing the thought of how exactly will the tiny car fit the three of them. 

Searching through her pockets, she closes her fingers around the small metal key before making her way towards the trailer’s door. Placing it into the keyhole, the door opens with a click. Climbing the few steps, Macarena fully enters inside the trailer for the first time in months.

It was a pretty basic camping trailer — a simple kitchen to the right wall, a bathroom, small dining table and a double bed at the far end of the room. The air was stuffy from the prolonged closed off period, making the furniture give off a nauseating smell that made her stomach roll over itself once again. 

Taking a deep breath to control the queasiness rising up her throat, she makes her way towards the bathroom — pulling her pants and panties down in one swift movement as she sits on top of the toilet. Placing the plastic bag upon her lap, shaky fingers tear through the little rectangular paper package of the pregnancy test, pulling out the plastic stick from inside it. 

Briefly reading the instructions, she sinks the stick in between her thighs to pee on top of it — waiting a couple of seconds before pulling it back, resting her elbows upon her knees, staring at the stick in front of her with a fierce grip. 

Time starts to pass slowly inside the bathroom, crawling through her, melting down, turning the air around her into a thin sheet — insufficient for her lungs. She chooses to hold her breath, counting the seconds in her head.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six—

Macarena gasps. 

An image starts to appear upon the stick’s end — a little red faded cross, slowly turning more visible. She feels tears well up in her eyes.

It was positive. She was pregnant.

Putting the piece on the sink beside her, she tries again on another. 

Also positive. 

It was true. There was a child growing inside her. 

Putting her head in her hands, she starts to cry — hot tears falling down her cheeks, dripping into her palms. 

Macarena felt torn. Half of herself was extremely happy, she had always wanted to build a family. At least, before everything in her life got complicated. Prison changed her more than she admitted — after losing so much, the hope of raising something as delicate as a child starts to fade away. 

To watch Román raise a family right in front of her eyes felt like a fire burning silently within her, growing larger which each day she experienced it. Her niece had been a gift, such a smart girl. She used to joke, telling her brother he had been lucky she got nothing from him — he would laugh, agreeing with her, saying Luiza was better that way.

And now, she had her very own piece of joy growing inside her. 

Passing a hand through her abdomen, Macarena frowns. 

She should tell Fabio, she thinks.

She should.

If there truly was a baby inside her, he was the one responsible for making it happen, the least she could do is tell him.

But. 

She couldn’t help but compare the situation to wrapping a rope around her own neck. The blonde knows the moment she opens her mouth to tell him, there would be no return. She would be bound to him, forever. A child changes things, in every way, and a baby is precisely why Fabio has been going through all this hell with her for. A family. The second she tells him she’s pregnant — of his child — there will be no way for her to step away from him, nor him from her.

Now, that she will have a child, things will change. 

Her whole plan had just turned upside down. Initially, after stealing the necklace, her and Zulema were supposed to return to this trailer — to maintain a life of crime, they needed something to keep moving, so nothing better than a house on wheels.

She’s far from the point of lying to herself that she didn’t want Zulema in her life — after last night, there was no doubt that, despite everything they had done towards each other, the two of them were bound together. 

But that was before.

One thing was to share a fugitive life being her lover — she mentally snorts at the word — and another entirely to ask Zulema to endure both her and her child. She knows she can’t force the woman on sharing that kind of life with her. 

Letting out a sigh, Macarena decides she spent long enough away from the cottage. Fabio is probably tearing his hair out wondering where she is. Pulling her clothes up, she makes her way outside the trailer, stepping inside the van to head back to the house — feeling the anxiety cripple upon her stomach the closer she gets to the cottage.

Closing the front door behind her, Macarena has three seconds of peace and quiet before Fabio storms inside the living room in a frenetic pace — a worried look upon his face.

“Where the hell have you been, Macarena?” He exclaims, hands on his hips, glancing her body up and down to check if every limb was still in place.

Macarena counts to ten inside her mind before giving him a tight smile. “I went to the pharmacy. I told you I was sick, remember?” She asks him, raising the hand carrying the plastic bag — and nausea meds — with a wave. 

Fabio lets out a deep sigh, passing a hand through his eyes. “Please, don’t ever do that again. Especially after last night. I thought another guard had come back to take you while I slept.” He mutters, his voice suddenly really quiet. The man tilts his head to give her a prolonged look — brown eyes asking, no, begging her to don’t scare him like that again. 

The blonde should pity him, she thinks. He seemed actually worried that she had been taken. But she couldn’t see anything other than a lone rope swaying in front of her — accusing her for her silence. 

“There you are, darling. We have been worried.” Valentín says as he steps inside the living room, wrapping an elegant watch upon his wrist. 

“Only went to buy some nausea pills.” She replies, giving him a more sincere smile than the one she gave Fabio — his presence not carrying half the weight the man she loved, once upon a time, did. 

“Oh, everything’s fine then. Hope you get better.” Valentín states with a warm smile before glancing his eyes to his now set wristwatch. “And on that matter, we should make our leave, Fabio. My source should be arriving any minute.” 

Fabio acknowledges the man with a gesture before tilting his head towards the door. Knowing full well his oldest friend will receive his message clearly. 

He needed a minute alone with Macarena. 

With a firm nod, Valentín makes his exit — understanding him. Fabio waits until the man fully leaves the house before turning his gaze back to the blonde in front of him. Macarena had her eyes facing the balcony, watching the waves with a tired look upon her face.

Stretching a finger forward, he tilts Macarena’s chin up, bringing her gaze back to him, meeting light eyes with a frown. She seemed so distant from him these couple of days. He felt like he was experiencing her through a thick layer of glass — visible, but miles away from him.

Fabio had been so happy she had contact him again a month ago. After proposing to her in prison all those months ago, and receiving a no, he had lost all hopes the blonde would accept to share a life with him. He truly loved her, more than any woman in his life.

But now. 

He had never seen Macarena that cold. Fabio knew she was slowly drifting away from him, and he couldn’t even fathom the thought of why, when everything had been going so well. Zulema had passed through his mind once or twice while thinking about it, but this felt different — not something someone could whisper inside her ear.

“How are you feeling?” Fabio asks, feeling his heart skip a beat when she parts her lips to give him a smile. He truly loved that smile.

“I’m better now, Fabio. I took one of these on my way back.” Macarena says, flashing him the toothy grin she knew would make him swoon — mentally letting out a sigh. She hasn’t slept properly in the past couple of days, the hours she lost were starting to catch up on her. 

“That’s good.” He passes a hand through her cheek. 

She doesn’t feel it. 

Allowing her smile to fade into a straight line, she bits her bottom lip for a second before stuffing her hand inside her pocket, curling her fingers around a paper note — stretching it out towards Fabio.

An idea had popped inside her head somewhere between the first and second hour of staring at her ceiling last night. She had rose up briefly to scribble it on a piece of paper before returning to her previous position. It was essential she didn’t forget it. 

Fabio receives the note with a frown — it getting deeper as he reads what was written inside it. 

“What’s this, Macarena?” He exclaims.

“I want you to check and see if Valentín’s source sells that.” She replies, simply. 

He raises a brow, no, both of them. Clearly, taken by surprise. “Are you serious?” 

“I’m _that_ desperate, Fabio.” 

He gives her a serious look, feeling torn between protecting her from such volatile weapon and doing what she wishes. Looking into her tired eyes, he lets out a sigh. It was completely understandable for her to seek a heavier protection after last night’s events.

He won’t stand in the way.

At last, he nods, putting the paper note inside his own pocket. “Alright. But I will keep this inside the van.” 

She smiles, giving his cheek a kiss.

Macarena watches him get ready to leave with a crippling sensation rising up her throat. Before he steps outside, she opens her mouth — hand intuitively wrapping around her venter.

“Fabio?” 

_A rope tangles in front of her._

He turns, eyebrows raised in question.

_She takes it into her hands, lifting it closer to her neck._

“Yes?” 

Macarena hesitates. 

“Be careful.” She says, instead. 

_The rope vanishes._

He gives her a warm smile before heading out, closing the door behind him.

— - —

Macarena watches the waves in front of her with a heaviness settling inside her chest. 

The very first thing she did when moving in, all those months ago, was to spent her entire day by the beach. She had grabbed an old towel, laid it out onto the sand, and had sat on top of it from the moment the sun had rose on the horizon, until it had set behind her, the moon taking it’s place.

Back then, the blonde had used the moment to help herself realize that she was free — that the sand underneath her feet was real, and the roaring sound of the waves in front of her wasn’t simply the clanging of the prison cells opening and closing. 

Now, it was helping her think. 

The day had passed faster than she imagined it would. 

After Fabio had left with Valentín, Macarena had simply placed herself on that spot on the sand, and hasn’t moved ever since, desperately needing a moment alone to collect her thoughts. 

The man himself had been confused to find her sitting by herself on the beach after returning from his meeting with Valentín’s source, but he knew her long enough to not ask too many questions.

Fabio had merely stood beside her, staring at the waves ahead of them, informing her he had made the purchase she asked, along with the rest of the equipment they were needing. No pistols this time, but rifles. Army grading. He too was worried for the possible backlash the death of Emilio’s security guard could bring.

Everything was too quiet, he had said, passing a hand through his neck. She too was feeling the tension in the air, a building anxiety surrounding them, toning down the shades of everything they did. 

Not knowing has always been the worst part in everything, she had told him, not exactly referring just to the matter at hand. 

The man had nodded at her, agreeing, bending to give her forehead a kiss before turning on his ankles and heading back inside — deciding to let her be. 

That had been hours ago. 

The night had already set around her, the sand underneath her feet slowly loosing its heat. The comforting breeze turning into a cold whisper against her skin. 

Letting out a sigh, she pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them in an effort to protect herself against the chilling wind — resting her chin on them before taking a deep breath, the salted air entering her lungs in a gentle caress, calming her down from the inside out. 

Closing her eyes, she lets her mind flood with the memories of her previous night, feeling the familiar warmth wrapping around her heart. 

Macarena knows she can’t step away from this, not anymore. Time was already ticking, the whole plan starting to unravel — the walls were slowly closing in on her.

She had already been preparing herself for a troubled path — a life with Zulema wouldn’t be easy, the woman herself would make sure of that, peaceful and quiet not exactly being the words she would use to describe her — and now, life had threw her a flaming curve ball in the form of a pregnancy, hitting her straight in the teeth. 

Zulema has never been an easy person to predict. Despite all those years being her enemy — and later on, something close to a lover — she never managed to truly understand her before. 

Last night’s realization had hit her across the chest abruptly — fast and hard — completely out of guard, taking the breath out of her lungs. To understand Zulema had actually been getting just as affected as her by all this had not been an easy thing to wrap her mind around. 

The woman was an scorpion — she had raised that flag herself plenty of times during prison: that she had no friends, no family, nor wanted to have. To see that the untouchable Zulema had been sinking into dark waters just like her had been comical, once in a lifetime kind of show. She had been hopeful, started to actually believe their life together in the trailer might not be just as bad as she thought. 

But now, that scenario probably won’t even happen. 

“Hey, Eeyore.” 

Macarena lets out a yelp, clutching the fabric of her pants in a tight grip. Raising her gaze up, she lets out a sigh when she finds Cristían staring down at her — an amused smirk upon his face.

“Sorry.” He laughs, lying through his teeth. With a wave, Cristían tells her to scooch to the side, taking a sit beside her on the towel, mirroring her position. 

“You’ve been here a while, so I decided to bring you a snack.” He says as he reaches inside his hoodie pocket, taking out a chocolate bar and pointing it towards her. 

Macarena feels touched.

She gives him a warm smile as she takes the gift into her hands, unwrapping the candy before breaking a square, offering it back to Cristían. He takes with a charming smirk, biting off a piece before stare at the waves in front of him.

“What’s up with you, blondie? You’ve been down the whole day. Last night got you good?” 

Macarena sighs as she takes a bite of her own chocolate square, lifting her gaze ahead of her and to the waves as well. “Have you ever felt like everything in your life was changing in a blink of a eye, Cristían?” She whispers, her voice barely audible through the swift ocean breeze. 

“Hell yes. The minute I heard Lady Gaga for the first time changed me forever.” 

An unexpected laugh blurts out of her lips. She gives his shoulder a light shove in response, the movement only making him laugh harder at her. 

“Something like that, yes.” 

“Well, I’m sure almost dying will never get close to The Fame album, but I get why you blue all the sudden.” 

She rolls her eyes at him, feeling the weight upon her chest get a little lighter.

“But if I learned anything in this life, is that it’s supposed to change that fast. That’s the fun of it, I think. You’re never the same. Always a opportunity to improve — or not, in my case.” He laughs. 

She gives him a thoughtful look. Cristían was wiser than she had thought.

“My opinion would be to take this moment, and enjoy it. You know how fast it can last. If you have something you need to say, just do it. What do you have to loose, right?” He says, shrugging his shoulders, as if her had not just told her exactly what she needed to hear. 

Cristían gives her a wink, before rising — hand brushing the back of his jeans. “And with that dramatic statement, I will go to bed. Ah, Fabio asked me to tell you he decided to go to bed early. Something about paying attention to the laptop? I think he’s replacing you for that machine.” He gives her a funny look before heading back inside.

Macarena stares at the spot he had been occupying for a moment longer — mind running. 

In a heartbeat, she gets on her feet. 

The house was quiet once again — a glance to the clock on the wall tells her she had been siting on that beach for longer than she had thought. Stepping through the dark living room, she makes her way towards the hallway, feet closing the distance between her and the door at the end of it. 

She doesn’t hesitates this time, nor asks for permission, hand closing upon the door-handle and giving it a twist. 

Zulema was lying down on the middle of the bed — belly up this time — with an arm thrown over her eyes. Inevitably, her heart skips a beat at the sight, the familiar warmth spreading across her chest.

Softly closing the door behind her, she makes her way towards the sleeping woman, feet only stopping when she reaches the corner of the bed. Macarena stays still for a second, watching the rise and fall of the brunette’s chest in a almost hypnotic trance. 

There was a time she had wished that movement had ceased. 

She remembers the first night Zulema had stepped inside this house, with her face a bloody mess, unconscious. The blonde had wanted to wrap her fingers around that slender neck so badly, squeeze until her last breath touched the bed of her ears, finishing what Rizzos had started. 

Now, the only thing she wanted was to bury her hands into dark locks, and press her lips tightly against her own — kiss her until both of their lungs were burning with the lack of oxygen. 

Mutual asphyxiation. 

In a swift movement, Macarena throws her leg over the woman, resting both of them beside the brunette’s hip to straddle her — sitting comfortably upon her lap. 

Zulema tenses up immediately, removing her arm from her face to raise alert keen eyes to the figure on top of her — seeing the blonde, she visually relaxes, closing them back again. 

“If you want a quick fuck, rubia, I suggest you wait until i’m in a better mood.” 

Macarena snorts, already regretting ever leaving the beach in the first place. 

“No, Zulema. I don’t want a quick fuck.” 

“Then, what the hell do you want?” The brunette grunts, opening her eyes to give the woman an annoyed gaze, starting to feel her patience running thin. 

The blonde had been absent the whole day, sitting by herself on the beach. Zulema had seen her through her bedroom window — staring at the waves in front of her, most certainly overthinking something she shouldn’t. 

Macarena always thought too much about things, and she refused to waste her time playing the therapist to make the blonde feel better.

The woman on top of her lets out a frustrated sigh, hand passing anxiously through her hair — a nervous habit, Zulema points out mentally. Macarena looks torn, fighting an internal battle inside her. 

The brunette starts counting the seconds in her head. The blonde consistently managed to implode before exploding — she enjoyed to raise the flag that she was the most levelheaded one out of the two of them, but in the end, she was just as bad as Zulema when it came to critical situations. 

Whatever it was that was getting her panties into such a twist was most certainly worth the abrupt wake up call — she had always enjoyed to watch Macarena squirm. 

“I’m pregnant, Zulema.” 

Macarena watches the woman beneath her with a apprehensive look. 

The body between her thighs had tensed up completely — honey eyes staring at her, unblinking, flashing with emotions she couldn’t really put her finger on it. 

One second passes, then two — the silence starts wrapping her body her in a claustrophobic embrace, squeezing her lungs together. 

With a blink, Zulema briefly shakes her head — mask back in place — before giving the blonde an dismissive look.

“And what do you want me to do about that? Another miscarriage? If you want to bring a child into criminal life that’s your problem, not mine.” 

Macarena feels her heart slowly decrease its beats, stopping fully, before racing back up again — this time with a burning rage that makes her entire body shake, palms itching to wrap themselves around that fucking slender neck underneath her.

She should have known better than to expect anything less from Zulema.

“Because you most certainly knows best when it comes to raise a child, if Fátima is anything of an example.” The blonde grunts, her own kind of poison dripping through her lips. 

In a flash, she feels her cheek explode with pain. Zulema had raised to a sitting position, abruptly, giving her face a hard slap — the harsh sound echoing through the room. 

Macarena feels the room sway a little, head still a little heavy after all the punches she got last night. Raising a hand to her face, she meets the green eyes in front of her in a scorching match. 

The new position put Zulema’s face only a couple of inches away from hers — close enough to feel the woman’s hot breath upon her neck. 

She won’t apologize. Neither will Zulema. Both of them knew that.

Instead of opening her mouth again, Macarena decides to leave. The burning skin underneath her palm was the only answer she needed. 

She starts getting ready to move away from the woman when she feels a hand close tightly upon her wrist, keeping her in place. 

“ _Quieta._ ” Zulema hisses.

Macarena turns an angry gaze back to Zulema, internally preparing herself to whatever the brunette might throw at her this time.

Without warning, the brunette pushes her shirt up, reveling the skin underneath before placing a cold hand on top of her abdomen, right above her venter.

The blonde feels her breath stop.

Zulema had lowered her gaze to stare at her stomach, eyes squinting a little. She had a contemplative look upon her face, sucking the front of her teeth — letting out an amused snort before opening her mouth.

“Fabiorito doesn’t know, does he?”

Macarena lets out a frustrated sigh before meeting her gaze once again — holding her stare for as long as she can before, inevitably, shaking her head.

“He doesn’t need to know.” 

_But you do._

Ringed out, silently. 

But Zulema could hear that particular thought echo inside her mind, loud and clear. 

They both knew that. 

Macarena watches her with a burning sensation crawling up her chest, feeling her body twitch with the residual anger coursing through her veins. Zulema holds her gaze with a mix of emotions running through her eyes— just like blinking lights, each one flashing for a brief second before turning into another, until it finally stops.

The blonde feels her heart skip a beat when she finds honey eyes staring back at her — the very same shade she had seen yesterday.

In an instant, Macarena feels her heart bust inside her ribcage — chest, once again, warming up with the emotion that had made everything in her life a little more difficult for her to handle. It only made sense that she would only experience it in the presence of the woman that had made that fact an actual job.

Now, she knew exactly what to do when she received those eyes.

Ripping her wrist from the brunette’s grip, Macarena sinks her hands into dark locks, forming a fist, before pulling her face forward — crashing their lips together. 

Zulema reacts instantly, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, tongue entering her mouth, taking control. 

The hand underneath her shirt starts to move, leaving a hot trail through her skin, roaming through her chest before roughly take a hold of her breast, palming it possessively. Macarena hums deeply against the brunette’s lips — hips beginning to rock upon the woman’s lap.

Breaking the kiss, Zulema starts pulling the shirt out of the way, almost tearing the fabric as she forces it up and out of the blonde’s body — mouth automatically occupying her hand’s place upon her breast. 

Macarena lets out a moan, gripping the brunette’s hair in a tight fist to press her lips closer to her chest — hips moving faster, desperately needing some friction. 

One slender hand grips her roughly around the waist, encouraging her movement, guiding the blonde to grind even harder — the other lifts to wrap itself around blonde hair, pulling it back to reveal Macarena’s neck, lips rising to close themselves upon the soft skin, leaving an open-mouthed kiss. 

The blonde's breath starts coming in shallow gasps, the tight hot sensation between her legs reaching a critical level. 

“Zulema.” She whispers, bringing her lips to the woman’s ear. “I need you.” 

The brunette lets out a hiss before dropping her hand from the blonde’s hair — slender fingers roaming through her trousers before sinking deep inside her. 

Macarena lets out a deep moan against the woman’s neck, arms falling forward to wrap themselves around Zulema’s shoulders — hips rocking to meet each thrust eagerly, pushing it deeper, faster. 

The blonde closes her eyes tight when she’s starts feeling the tension get too high, teeth sinking into the brunette’s neck to muffle her moans — fingers closing around the woman’s shirt in a white-knuckled fist. 

Suddenly, she comes — a scream coming out of her mouth as she rocks harder against Zulema’s fingers, riding them as the hot waves of pleasure course through her body.

With one final thrust, she falls forward against Zulema, flushing their bodies together — face turning to rest her cheek upon the woman’s shoulder. 

She starts feeling a hand brushing through her skin, reaching the back of her neck before descending to the small of her back — light enough to make her tighten her hold around Zulema’s shoulder. 

In the end, she had been doing this all along, she thinks. Choosing Zulema. 

There was a reason their fates had been so tightly wrapped around each other. The both of them had been making that choice, continuously, through the years — always pulling the other back into orbit each time they stepped too far, neither letting the other completely free.

Lifting her head from Zulema’s shoulder, she meets honey eyes with a soft smile upon her face. The brunette stares at her for a couple of seconds before the corner of her mouth starts curling — a controlled movement — lips forming a restrained smile. 

Macarena wants to let out an amused snort — resistant bitch — but choses to wrap her hand around the woman’s neck instead, pushing her forward until her back flushes against the mattress.

From her position, she can see Zulema’s eye twitch a little — something she had always done when the blonde decided to be the one on top. Macarena feels laughter bubble up inside her stomach, enjoying every second of being the one in control, especially when it annoyed the woman that badly. 

Replacing herself between the woman’s thighs, she pushes the short away enough to make room for her hand to curl itself around Zulema’s center, palm curving down to slither two fingers inside her.

Zulema lets out a gasp, closing a grip upon Macarena’s wrist upon her neck, eyes closing as she starts rocking, hips meeting each thrust. 

The blonde fucks her hard, and aggressively, arm starting to burn as she pushes it harder, deeper inside her. 

Tightening her grip around Zulema’s neck, she picks up her pace when nails starts leaving angry red lines down her arm — the woman was close — digging her fingers deeper until she could her the sound of surrender ringing through her ears in the form of a deep moan. 

The brunette had her mouth open in pleasure as her orgasm courses through her body, hips still rocking against her fingers — letting out a sigh before stopping. 

With a grunt, Macarena throws herself beside Zulema on the bed, breathing hard. Resting her face on it's side to stare at the woman’s profile in front of her. 

The brunette had her eyes closed, chest heaving just like hers — she lets out a sigh before blinking them open, turning to meet her gaze. 

Macarena lets a smile grace her lips as she watches honey eyes stare back at her — her eyelids were starting to get heavier, her blinking turning slower, the hours she kept awake, finally, catching up to her.

Before she fully closes her eyes, she catches a glimpse of Zulema giving her an almost full blown smile, completely transparent.

Almost. 

But when it comes to the brunette, almost is always too much.

— - —

Macarena opens her eyes a few hours later to find Zulema in the same position, chest rising and falling softy, deep asleep. 

Rising to her elbows, light eyes rapidly blink towards the window — letting out a sigh when she sees it’s still dark out.

Turning her gaze back to the woman in front of her, Macarena feels the familiar warmth course through her chest, down her arms, until it reaches the tip of her fingers — conquering more ground, taking hold of her whole self. 

Without saying a single word, Zulema had told her everything she needed to hear.

She will stay. 

Lifting a hand, she softly brushes a few dark locks out of the brunette’s face — digit following down a path through her forehead, cheek, until it reaches the corner of her lip, tracing them, remembering their taste.

Fully rising to a sited position, Macarena throws her legs outside the bed in a swift movement, putting her shirt back on before quietly rising to her feet. 

She takes one last look at the sleeping brunette on the bed before softly closing the door behind her. 

Taking a step to the left, she opens the door to her own bedroom, not bothering too much about the noise — knowing full well that Fabio was a heavy sleeper.

She finds the man sleeping in a sited position on the bed, his head knocked back against the wall, mouth open, the laptop open in his lap.

Rolling her eyes, she closes the door behind her before closing the distance between them, bending forward to take the machine in her arms — briefly shaking her head at the man’s workaholic tendencies.

When her eyes turn to the screen in front of her, she almost drops it on the floor.

The red dot was moving.

Slowly.

Time had ran out. Faster than she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, am I right? AHahah
> 
> So, this chapter was more to bring the things between these two to a close before the final chapter, since they won't have time for it then.
> 
> I will take EXTRA time to write the final one, so please, be patient ahahah, I want to wrap things up correctly before clicking the upload button one last time. Waterloo is coming to an end, my dearest! But fear not, I have plans to write the sequel right after it.
> 
> Can't stay from you guys for too long! Warm hugs! <3


	13. In Perpetuity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I will love you as misfortune loves orphans, as fire loves innocence, and as justice loves to sit and watch everything go wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, my dearests, meus amores. The finale. I am emotional, don’t look at me hahah
> 
> At the end of this chapter, I left you all a message, and a few notes about the sequel, so please, give a little time to read it, it would mean a lot to me.  
> In this chapter, we will see everything come to an almost close — after all, we need some material for the sequel. The weight of Macarena’s actions will take her by surprise, but when it comes to these two together, there isn’t fire big enough that can’t be stomped out, am I right? 
> 
> Thank you all for your patience.
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Ps. The quote is from Lemony Sicket.

Macarena stares at the countertop in front of her with a crippling sensation rising up inside her chest. 

She had her lower back rested near the stove, light eyes burning holes upon the marble ahead of her, thin fingers twirling blonde locks in an anxious pace — lifting her gaze up, she lets out a frustrated sigh when she reads five past five on the old wooden clock on the wall.

Time had ran out.

The moment she saw the red blinking dot moving slowly on the laptop’s screen a few minutes ago, she had woken Fabio up with two shouts. The man had almost fell out of bed in fright, raising annoyed eyes to her, brow lifted in question. 

She had told him nothing, simply turned the screen towards him — the red dot moving in a lethargic rhythm in the open satellite map. His face had drained all color, rapidly rising to his feet, putting a shirt on before heading out of the room and into the hallway.

Macarena simply carried the laptop in her arms to the living room as Fabio made a work of waking everyone up — his fist slamming angrily on every door, shouting at the top of his lungs for everyone to get on their feet. 

The blonde had placed the machine on top of the table, eyes following the blinking dot with a fingernail trapped between her teeth. The tiny mark was moving in a pace similar to a person walking — probably being transported through the house by a guard, she guesses — which means, it’s not moving towards the safe just yet. 

They still had a little time left.

Fabio enters the living room in a frenetic pace, stepping beside her on the table to watch the dot as well.

“What do you think is happening?” He asks her, hands resting on his hips, a deep frown cutting through his face. 

Letting out a sigh, she takes the hand from her mouth to curl it in front of her chest, closing her arms tight around her. 

“Probably transporting the necklace to the van. Emílio prefers to work bright and early. With the sun up” She answers, her gaze moving out to the balcony.

The sky was dark yet.

“So we have a little time to work with.” Fabio mutters, his hand passing through his neck to relieve some tension — falling asleep in a sitting position after watching that screen all night certainly did a nasty work on the tendons in that area. 

He knew things had been too quiet. 

Fabio had cleaned, loaded and tested every gun he and Valentín had brought from his source out of pure anxiety, guarding them inside their suitcase underneath the living room table — close enough so that they can reach it at any time. 

If his career as a prison guard taught him anything, is that things can change from quiet to chaos in the blink of an eye. 

Turning his face to the woman next to him, he lets out a sigh when his gaze falls on the angry purple line cutting through her neck.

The man could see that Macarena had gotten affected by that dreadful night’s events. He had never seen her like that before — sitting by the beach all day, staring at the waves with a far off look upon her face. Rather than try and make her talk, he had decided to let her be, he knew her at least _that_ much. 

Lifting a hand, he brushes her blonde locks behind her ear to trace the bruise on her neck. He takes a deep breath before opening his mouth.

“He won’t touch you, again.” 

To his surprise, Macarena snorts. A harsh sound, cutting through the dawn’s silence. 

“I made sure of that.” She says, bitterly, not taking her eyes off the screen. Her head was starting to pulsate with the familiar headache that had never managed to fully go away — the ever present buzzing behind her eyes making her mood even sour. 

Macarena could feel the intensity of his gaze upon the right side of her cheek — she didn’t need to see to know that, if she looked, she would find those big worried brown eyes staring at her once again.

The blonde knows he had not expected such reaction from her — after all, she had played her part really well — but now, she was too stressed to even consider the thought of wether he will be hurt by it or not. 

She had bigger concerns.

Cupping a hand over her stomach, the blonde lets out a sigh, shrugging Fabio’s hand off her neck before turning and stepping inside the kitchen — choosing to rest her back on the countertop near the stove. Fingers lifting to play with her hair as her eyes nervously follow the consistent tick-tacks of the clock’s pointers. 

They needed to start moving fast.

She was standing in that position when their guests started to leave their rooms and joining them in the living room. 

“What is the necessity of a briefing in such short notice, Fabio?” Valentín asks, his hands tying an elegant knot on his silk robe. 

“Fuck’s sake. I can already feel the percentage of beauty I’m losing with each second I stay awake.” Cristían grunts as he throws himself on the couch, arm curving in front of his eyes, followed closely by his brother — although, in a much more graceful manner than his youngest. 

Fabio waits until Gary fully enters the room before waving a hand to the laptop on top of the table. “Necklace started moving.” 

The men grow briefly quiet, all eyes turning to the screen. 

Macarena passes a hand through her hair, eyes carving a hole on the marble in front of her, properly ignoring the anxious chatter the men started to engross themselves with. Her mind was running with what they needed to do next — fingers intuitively forming a fist on her shirt, right above her venter. 

Before, she wasn’t afraid of the risks such heist could take. 

She had been aware of it’s dangers when she had first planned all this— after all, stepping on Emílio’s toes wasn’t exactly an easy and harmless process. And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she had threw herself head first into these kind of situations.

Back in prison, she could count on her fingers the amount of times she had stuck her nose where she shouldn’t — almost all of them involving Zulema in some way. 

The most recent one being the prison riot. 

Macarena had her freedom right in front of her eyes — she briefly feels her chest warm up when she remembers the way Castillo had actually made an effort in setting her free — but she couldn’t do it.

She had turned back.

The blonde likes to think she had returned solely because of all the shit she was leaving behind — despite everything, she had build a family inside that prison, and turn her back on them knowing all the hell they were going through, when she could do something to help, had been unacceptable. 

But.

She knows that, deep down, it was because of the way Zulema’s words had resonated inside her. 

That night, she had woke up to find the woman herself sitting by the end of her bed. Zulema was a fright — dark pupils reflecting the corridor’s light almost the same way a feline’s would do, turning the green into a reflective white, staring through her soul. 

Her mascara had been dripping down her eyes — a sight, she had thought, that she would die before seeing: Zulema crying. It hadn’t been as heartwarming as one would expected such vulnerable moment would be, after all, anything coming from the woman herself could twist and turn into something to intimidate someone with.

The blonde didn’t lie when she told the woman she had deserved every little bit of bad karma sent her way. Zulema had been responsible — at least in some degree — for the death of every family member she had, she most certainly wasn’t the best person to ask for comfort over the death of her daughter.

But still.

Indirectly — and unconsciously, she thinks — Zulema had asked for her help. 

And she would had never be able to leave prison knowing that.

That day, she had finally realized how similar — and how different — the both of them had actually gotten. 

Once again, they had nothing else to loose. 

Macarena never had the pleasure of meeting Fátima, the poor girl had already been killed by the time she woke up from her coma — she briefly smiles, remembering the way Sandoval had fallen, limply like a rag doll, dead on the floor. He deserved everything they did to him.

Thinking back now, she feels a curiosity burn inside her when she thinks about the girl, wondering how would Zulema be as a mother. 

Even scorpions take care of their children. 

Macarena’s mind, inevitably, projects the thought of to what extent that sentence was really true — hand tightening it’s hold on top of her stomach. 

Now, she could pretty easily loose everything she loved in a heartbeat. 

Again.

The blonde snaps herself out of her reverie when a body occupies the spot she had been mentally scorching with her eyes. Lifting her gaze, she finds the very focus of her thoughts mirroring her position in front of her — back rested upon the countertop, facing her. 

Zulema had her hands stuffed inside her pant’s pockets, head thrown back, watching her through her eyelashes with a thoughtful gaze. Pursing her lips, honey eyes trace a warm path down her body, briefly stopping on Macarena’s closed fist upon her stomach, before rising back up — meeting light eyes with an ironic look upon her face.

The blonde doesn’t feel any better.

Zulema feels the corner of her lip curl when she sees the woman’s eyes hardening underneath her stare. 

“You think too much, rubia.” She says, letting a smirk emerge.

“Oh, really?” Macarena asks her, an incredulous smile on her face. “I think I have — her eyes briefly glance over the brunette’s shoulder before meeting her eyes once again, voice going down a tone — a pretty good _reason_ to think too much, don’t you think?” 

“I’m just saying that all that cortisol in your blood might cause some damage. High stress situations can cause premature labor.” Zulema snorts, tilting her head to the side to give the woman in front of her an amused look.

The blonde lets out a sigh, passing a hand through her hair — eyes closing when she feels the pain behind her skull rise up a notch. 

Macarena opens them back up again when she feels the shift in the air, gaze falling on the woman in front of her — now, much closer than before, face standing only a couple inches away from her own. 

Zulema watches her with a contemplative look upon her face, eyes squinting a little. The blonde can see the way the woman’s tongue was roaming through her teeth inside her closed mouth — clearly, something was running behind the scorpion’s mind. 

Suddenly, she feels a cold hand wrap itself around her fist on top of her shirt.

“No time for weaknesses, rubia.” The brunette whispers, holding her stare with a burning intensity — fingers tightening in her grip “In the chessboard of life, we haven’t played our last move yet.”

The blonde feels her breath stop as she watches honey shades reflect inside Zulema’s eyes. 

“ _Tranquila._ ” The brunette says, her voice low — but to Macarena, it felt as loud as thunder, reverberating inside her, sinking through her skin, slithering through her ribcage until it reached her heart.

Setting it ablaze.

Zulema gives her a smirk that said she knew exactly the turmoil her words had caused on her — the blonde doesn’t know if she wants to smack her across the face or kiss her senseless. 

“Macarena?”

Blinking once, twice, she turns her gaze over the brunette’s shoulder, meeting Fabio’s face with a frown. 

She had forgotten about him.

“Yes?” 

“I think it’s best for you to explain this part.” The man says, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were flickering between her own, their joined hands over her stomach, and the back of Zulema’s head, visually trying to make out what he was seeing.

Macarena briefly thinks to herself what exactly would be necessary for him to understand she wasn’t his anymore. 

Letting out a sigh, she meets Zulema’s gaze once again, giving the woman a small smile before dropping their hands — stepping to the side and heading towards the bookshelf.

She curls her hand around a folded paper sheet — a local map — and spreads it on top of the table. The men slowly rise to their feet to circle around her, giving the paper a proper look. Uncapping a red marker with her teeth, she starts highlighting the six main roads that connected Emílio’s mansion to his Bank.

“While I was planning this heist, there was just one thing that I couldn’t figure out by myself.” Macarena starts, closing the marker and placing it beside her before resting both her hands on the wood. “Which road he would take.”

“All six roads are a good choice, but after a few months thinking about it, my best guess would be this one.” The blonde says, tracing a fingernail on the lowest road on the map. A federal highway. “It’s quiet, deserted, and unpopulated. The others cut through villages, and small cities. This one, does not.” 

“All that peace and quiet will give them a clean perimeter to work on, but it will also allow us to have a full vision of the van.” 

“We will be able to shoot them down like _cochitos_.” Zulema says as she takes a step behind the blonde, watching the map over her shoulder. The brunette makes a make-shift gun with her hand, pointing two straight fingers towards the paper, one eye closing as she makes a firing sound with her mouth.

Macarena meets the woman’s gaze over her shoulder, feeling her insides burn with renewed vigor at the intensity she finds in them. “Exactly.” She says, letting a smirk form on the corner of her lips. “We just need to get near enough to surprise them.” 

Zulema watches the blonde in front of her with a repressed smile, lips pursing to prevent it from forming a full grin — Macarena doesn’t make the same effort, giving her a smile before facing the map once again.

“And see this — the blonde traces a spot on the paper with her finger — this curve down here is the perfect moment for us to intercept them. Emílio’s guards will need to take the long way round to take this route. We can reach this crossroad in fifteen minutes—”

Zulema stops listening to her, using the moment to actually give the woman a proper glance. 

They were close, she observes. Physically close. 

She hadn’t noticed how close they had actually gotten — from this distance, she could feel the blonde’s warmth through her shirt. Macarena's elbow was near enough to brush against her stomach each time she would make a move. 

Closeness, in prison, had always a significance much deeper than intimacy. Back then, she had used it as a threat. Once near enough, she could read every inch of the person’s face, predict their reaction, read their fears.

She had promised to kill the blonde in a distance pretty similar to this one.

Zulema briefly shuts her eyes when she remembers the burning sensation of the needle breaking through her skin. Macarena had taken her by surprise, that day. She should have known better than to let her guard down near the blonde. 

The woman had truly become an authentic _hija de puta_ inside jail — enough to use torture to take information from her, in exchange of her own freedom.

They had always been like this, she thinks. Always a little blood in the water.

Since the moment Macarena had stepped inside prison they had been circling around each other — never too close, nor too far — two celestial stars, spiraling together, disrupting the fabric of space, making the heavens bleed with their intensity.

Until, one day, she had taken a step forward and they fully emerged — forming a black hole, pulling the both of them inside, swallowing them whole, unescapable. 

Zulema wasn’t a person that lost control often — if ever. Everything in her life she had it planned. She needed to. In prison, you don’t need friends to survive, you need your own head. The brunette had lost count of how many times her quick thinking got her out of tight situations. 

Control was a weapon that had helped her survive along the years — she never gave in. Old habits die hard.

And yet.

She doesn’t remember when she had started submitting to Macarena’s pull. When a deliberate step had turned into a free fall. The blonde had taken her by surprise in more ways than one, slowly making her way inside — quietly — until she had taken such a grip around her that a departure became impossible. 

Zulema can’t kill her anymore. 

No. 

There was an annoying little feeling twisting inside her, buzzing through her skin, urging her to do the exact opposite.

To both Macarena, and the child growing inside her.

Zulema snaps herself out of her thoughts when a brutal silence takes hold of the room around her. 

Lifting her gaze up, she sees every pair of eyes turned to the laptop on the table — following the invisible line to the object itself, she finds the red dot blinking softly. 

It had stopped once again.

She starts opening her mouth to ask the blonde what was the big deal when a sudden sounds cuts through the silence. 

A sizzle.

And then, white noise turns into words — voices — making the whole group hold their breath as the spy-bug does it’s job.

“ _Here it is, sir._ ”

“ _Good. Is everything ready for transportation?_ ” 

Emílio. 

Macarena realizes with a crippling sensation, once again, rising up inside her chest. They must have had opened the necklace’s suitcase to give it a final check before transportation.

“ _Yes, sir. All six vans are loaded._ ” 

His guard, she assumes. 

“ _Excellent. I want this necklace on the road by sunrise. Can’t believe Alejandra didn’t accept it —_ he sighs _— Women, am I right?_ ” 

_“Yes, sir.”_

Emílio lets out a deep laugh — a chilling sound.

_“Speaking of them, any news about my Bonnie?”_

Macarena feels her heart skip a beat inside her chest.

Swallowing dry, she straightens herself slowly, the movement making her right side flush against Zulema’s front. She doesn’t move away — nor the woman — both staring unblinkingly at the laptop screen in front of them. 

_“No, sir. We’ve received nothing from Santiago in the past couple of days.”_

Santiago. The guard she killed.

_“Well, that could only mean two things. Either he decided to keep her to himself —_ he says with a bitter laugh, as if the thought itself made him grin with malice _— or, something happened.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“And we both know the consequences of not getting me what I want, don’t we?”_

_“We do, sir.”_

_“So, that means, Bonnie has made herself much harder to get, didn’t she?”_

_“She did, sir.”_

_“The chase has always made the victory taste much better”_ He hums. 

Emílio's cold dead eyes and iron grip around her arm briefly pops up inside Macarena’s mind, seeding a shiver down her spine.

“ _I want your best men on the job. I want that woman here before I set my breakfast for the day. Alejandra sent my other companions away and I’m in desperate need of a younger woman’s touch.”_

_“Yes, sir. Right away, sir”_

_“Very well. Set this piece—”_

A click. 

And silence once again.

An heavy tension starts building up in the room, falling like a heavy drape around them — turning the air into a thick fog, slowly suffocating them. 

Macarena’s heart was slamming inside her chest — the strong pulse traveling through her veins, making the palm of her hands throb with its swift rhythm. 

Now, truly, time had ran out.

She turns her head to the side to catch the brunette’s gaze with a worried frown, lips pulled into a tense line. Zulema had an intense look upon her face — green eyes blazing in rage. Macarena feels her heartbeat slow down to a mild pace, finding some sort of comfort when she sees the woman was just as frustrated as she was.

Emílio’s persistence was starting to get on her nerves. 

“Who the fuck is Bonnie?” Cristian suddenly asks, breaking through the silence in the room.

Macarena almost jumps out of her skin — not expecting the interruption.

Letting out a sigh, she turns her gaze to the younger man beside her. Cristían had a childish expression upon his face — curled lip, brows gluing together in confusion — looking troubled for being, obviously, kept out of the loop on something. 

“He meant me.” She breathes, hand passing through her hair, wondering to herself if this day could get any worse — probably, her minds answers, aggravating the headache she had been feeling pulsate behind her eyes the minute she saw the red dot moving “Back at the gala, when Emílio talked to me, I told him my name was Bonnie.” 

Feeling the side of her cheek heat up with a scorching intensity, she switches her gaze to the man to Cristían’s right, finding Fabio’s eyes already locked on her own. 

The man’s face was a battle, switching like a metronome between worry and anger — a deep frown was cutting through his forehead, more profound than she ever seen, promptly carving holes on her skin.

_Great._

There’s also that.

Macarena briefly closes her eyes, knocking her head back a little, internally praying to whoever’s listening to give her patience. 

“So, that means they are coming to get you?” Crístian manages to ask, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“Apparently, yes.” Macarena answers, opening her eyes once again as she swallows down the sudden acid rising up her throat — her body’s way of constantly reminding her there wasn’t just one life being threatened by Emílio’s obsession.

“What do we do, then, darling?” Valentín asks from his position behind his brother. “Should we consider quitting?” The man suggests, curling his arms in front of his chest. 

He knew the dangers of this heist — he had experienced his fair share of stealing and robbing way before both him and his brother had gotten expelled from guard duty.

Valentín wasn’t a man that got scared easily, don’t get him wrong, but _God_.

These waters were way deeper than he had expected.

He lays a heavy hand upon his younger brother’s shoulder, giving him a affectionate squeeze as he starts feeling guilty he had dragged the little brat into this.

Macarena watches them with a frown upon her face, mirroring Valentín’s previous position and also wrapping her arms around herself — more precisely, around her abdomen.

Before, she wouldn’t hesitate in denying him. 

After all, she had spent months of her life planning this particular heist — nearly sixty days putting up with Fabio’s affections and constant need to touch her at any given time — to turn her back now. 

Back then, she had realized normalcy wasn’t made for her, not anymore. The thought of having a day-to-day job, earning extremely little, and becoming Fabio’s trophy wife and mother of his children had been suffocating. 

No, this robbery had became a door to a life she had actually started craving — most ardently. She would never falter in falling head first into it.

And yet.

Here she was. Weighting his words. 

Things were different now. There was a new piece to consider when balancing that particular scale, she thinks, as she closes a fist upon her shirt once again. 

Macarena now had a very precious thing to loose. 

She wouldn’t be able to bare to loose her child once again. 

It would _break_ her _._

Suddenly, the blonde feels a hand rest on the small of her back — barely a touch — hovering close enough to warm up her skin through her shirt, sending shivers up her spine. 

Turning her head towards the woman beside her, she finds Zulema giving her an intense gaze — almost wild — honey shades burning hot inside her eyes. 

The brunette had a thumb trapped between her teeth — an habit, Macarena remembers, that she had always done when her malicious mind was turning its wheels inside her head. She learned to fear each time she saw Zulema make that movement. Misfortune, usually, followed right after.

But in that moment, it was actually giving her some sort of comfort — if Zulema was plotting, then the situation wasn’t half as desperate as she thought.

The brunette holds her stare before she gives Macarena a short nod.

Encouraging. 

The woman knew exactly what thoughts had been coursing through her mind. 

Macarena feels her heart slow down to an almost normal pace. 

It should surprise her how profoundly they started to understand one another. Zulema had always been a difficult person to read — her own nature made sure of that — but, in the end, Macarena had became one of the very few people on Earth that could actually make some sort of sense to the scorpion’s way of acting.

And, after everything, it was expected for the brunette to do the same with her. 

Identical twins — as Altagracia had called then — what happens to one, happens to the other. She should have known that, in the end, only Zulema would comprehend her.

She gives the woman a soft smile, heart warming up inside her chest. The brunette’s lip starts to curl into an amused smirk when the sudden sound of a bang cuts through the room — making everyone jump.

Fabio had placed a large black suitcase on the table — harshly — opening it with a flick of his wrist, revealing all the guns they had bought from Valentín’s source.

“No time to turn back now. We need to prepare ourselves.”

— - — 

“I can’t believe that, out of all options, you chose _esta mierda._ ” Zulema grunts from the other side of the balcony’s door.

Macarena rolls her eyes as she grips her pistols a little tighter.

“What’s the problem? They are practical and compact. The important thing is to shoot bullets, right?” She replies, giving the woman an annoyed look.

“The important thing is to show them a proper declaration of intention.” The brunette almost purrs — one eye squeezing shut as she lifts the gun in front of her, resting her cheek on the weapon before aiming the muzzle on a far off point in front of them.

“You declaration of intention tells me you’re imprudent.” 

A snort.

“Well, at the end of this, let’s see who chose right.” Zulema tells her, an ironic smirk gracing her lips. 

The blonde lets out a grunt, knocking her head back to rest it on the wall behind her, light eyes falling on the dark waves in front of her — not even the low humming in the distance was distracting her from the situation they had gotten themselves into. 

After Fabio had rudely placed their guns on top of the table, the whole group had started to fill their hands with the equipment — Macarena, who had always thought automatic riffles were just too messy for her own taste, had closed her fingers on the last two remaining pistols they had. 

The material was light enough to allow her to stretch her arms in front of her with relative ease, testing their weight on her palms, making acquaintance with the grip.

Zulema had given her a bored look, watching the pistols in the blonde's hand with disdain as she checked if her own riffle was truly loaded — not really trusting that Fabio would actually give her a fully working weapon.

Letting out a sigh, Macarena drops her arms to her sides as she lifts her gaze to the wooden clock on the wall. If what Emílio had said was true, they didn’t have much time left before sunrise. 

His men had probably already left his mansion, and if they were fast — a high possibility, after all, Emílio wasn’t known for his patience— they would most likely arrive at her cottage at any given minute. 

Considering she had guessed the path right, they should have at least some time after the sun rises before the van got close enough for them to leave and start tracking it down.

They simply needed to hold their ground until then.

Macarena had stood to the side as she watched the men in front of her work

Fabio had taken everything from the table off — gently placing the open laptop beside the balcony’s door before promptly flipping the furniture over to its side.

With a push of his hands, he had placed the turned table beside the kitchen’s countertop — moving out of the way when Gary had pushed the couch right in between its wooden legs.

Forming a barricade. 

The military man had stood with his hands closed upon his hips — giving the make-shift protection a proper glance. 

It wouldn’t be the first time he had needed to take cover behind an improper shield. War had taught him that, in a situation of life or death, anything can be used in you favor.

Taking a look around, he makes a mental note of the possible escape routes, and entry paths their enemies could make. Problem number one was that weak looking door — an heavy kick could knock it down easily. 

He needed to fix that.

Squeezing his way through the improvised barricade, he places a hand on the left side of the fridge, giving it a strong push. The metal box falls soundly on the floor — its door being thrown open with the impact, spilling everything from its insides abruptly.

Completely blocking the main entrance to the house.

Macarena could make out some fallen groceries from her position — a carton of milk, broken eggshells, the Smirnoff vodka bottle she had never managed to finish — covering the whole floor in one messy mix.

Gary had brushed his hands on the back side of his pants before taking a look outside the windows. There was two pointing straight towards the road — one right above the kitchen sink and one right beside the door. 

One for him. 

One for Fabio.

If they were lucky, Emílio’s guard will arrive before the sun fully rises — which means, they would have two things in their advantage: the element of surprise and the darkness.

Those guards won’t be able to fully see them with the house's lights turned off.

Turning his gaze to Fabio, he gives the man a nod — feeling satisfied with their protection. The large man places himself in front of the window above the sink, pulling his own gun in position against his shoulder.

Reattributing his nod, Fabio pulls his riffle’s strap higher and more just to his body. 

Mirroring Gary’s position on the window beside the front door, he starts yelling the other men in the room orders. 

Valentín and Crístian were told to stay behind the countertops and make-shift barricade in the living room — keeping an eye out for anything that may slip through his and Gary’s attention.

Macarena and Zulema were told to stay outside the house — away from the line of fire. He doesn’t trust the brunette enough not to shoot him the minute Emílio’s guards started firing at them.

And he wouldn’t be able to focus if he knew the blonde was in possible danger.

Macarena had simply rolled her eyes at him, stepping outside the room to rest her back on one side of the balcony’s door. Zulema had taken the other side. 

That had been at least half an hour ago.

Macarena presses her head hard against the wall behind her, trying to control her breathing. 

They had been waiting.

She had always hated the waiting — the minutes always passes too slowly when you start waiting for something. Right now, they were crawling through her in a infuriating pace, driving her mad. 

The beach was quiet — unusually so — as if every living creature knew something was about to happen.

The blonde closes her eyes as she feels her mind run once again. 

“Ey, imbécil.” 

Macarena opens them back up again to turn an angry gaze to the brunette beside her, giving her an exasperated look “ _Qué_?” 

“I can hear your thoughts from all the way here. It’s bugging me.” 

The blonde lets out a incredulous huff — feeling the good old rage bubbling up inside her stomach. “I can’t exactly turn them off, can I?” 

Another snort.

“This is only the beginning, rubia.” Zulema tells her, not really bothering to give her a glance — finding the gun in her hands much more interesting than whatever the woman beside her was fussing about “I have no plans of dying before I can wrap my hands around that _puta_ _collar_.”

Macarena rolls her eyes before dropping her gaze to the floor. 

“I have bigger concerns than that fucking necklace, Zulema.” The blonde replies, her voice barely a whisper — shoulders suddenly feeling heavier than usual. 

She starts wondering to herself if the constant stress of the past couple of days were the sole responsible for the repetitive tiredness her body had been experiencing, or if it was simply the first symptoms of her pregnancy rising to the surface.

“Rubia.”

“ _Qué_?” She exclaims, lifting her gaze up once again.

Whatever she had been expecting to find, what she saw in Zulema’s eyes had not been it. 

There was a new color staring back at her, one she had never seen before. The brunette’s eyes had turned into an honey shade so deep it was almost hypnotic, warming her from the inside out, making her heart triple its beat inside her chest.

“Life is still smiling at us, rubia. _Cómo no?_ — she laughs — Here we are, two hija de putas that tried to kill each other many times, but never managed to succeed _una puta vez_.” Zulema says, giving her an amused smile, head shaking a little, letting out a snort as her tongue roams through her teeth.

“If even I can’t kill you, cariño, I doubt any of these men can.” 

Macarena feels her breath stop. 

“Zulema, I—” The blonde starts but closes her mouth shut when a sudden hissing noise cuts through the silence. Curving her head towards the living room, she finds Fabio waving his hand around the room with a finger on his mouth, demanding silence. 

Closing his hands on the gun once again, he gives Gary a nod before pointing their muzzles outside the window, aiming somewhere down the road in front of them.

One second passes — two — before she sees them.

Two pairs of headlights were shining down the dirt road in front of them, parting through the darkness, heading straight towards them.

Emílio’s guards had arrived.

Swallowing the queasiness rising up her throat, she grips her pistols a little tighter as she turns her gaze to the woman beside her.

Zulema had a wild look upon her face — completely in her element, the blonde thinks. She gives Macarena a short nod before placing her riffle upon her shoulder.

Blinking her eyes back outside, she holds her breath as she sees the cars entering the cottage’s front yard — the vehicles make a turn before stopping close to the front door. 

The ambient was still dark — sunlight shining timidly over the horizon, turning the sky above them into a deep dark blue shade — but Macarena could still see the silhouette of at least eight men stepping out of the parked cars.

All of them heavily armed.

They stop to give the house a look — Santiago’s last known location had been this cottage. 

It was quiet, and dark. Not one bit suspicious. But still, they had orders.

Macarena watches them approach the house — the sun slowly rising behind them. The sudden light makes her drop her gaze to the laptop beside her feet. 

Just like Emílio had ordered, the red dot was starting to move, towards the safe this time.

Her eyes follows the dot as it starts leaving his property, heading down, before taking a sharp left. 

The blonde feels her heart leap inside her chest. She had been right. They were going to take the federal highway. Now, they just needed to deal with these guards before it was time to start tracking down the necklace.

Macarena closes her eyes in relief — mentally thanking to whoever’s listening for having pity on her situation and making everything go as planned. 

A snort makes her open them back again to find Zulema giving the guards an malicious smirk. The woman had her thumb between her teeth once again, green eyes following the men’s movement the same way a lioness would follow a gazelle roam through an open field in front of her.

“They say happy people live twenty years longer.” Zulema says, her voice carrying an amused tone, cutting through the sudden silence — face turning towards the blonde's direction.

Macarena meets her gaze with a frown, lifting a brow in question. 

The brunette gives her a smirk before materializing the radio’s remote from the back of her jeans.

_No way._

“Zulema, what are you doing?” Macarena hisses at her.

“ _Pois,_ let’s be happy.” She says, pressing the button.

Instantly, the sound of an ecstatic guitar cuts through the room — at full volume. 

_My, my! At Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender. Oh yeah!_

“ _Estás loca_?” Macarena grunts over the loud music — briefly blinking her eyes towards the living room, receiving a fair share of confused looks being sent her way. 

Crístian, being who he was, was actually shaking his shoulders to the beat.

She spares Fabio a fast glance — the man was burning holes on the brunette’s scalp — before turning her gaze back to the woman herself.

Zulema had a huge grin on her face, one hand gripping the riffle close to her chest while the other was waving in front of her to the song’s rhythm.

Despite everything, Macarena actually feels the corner of her lips curl against her will as she watches the woman, chest warming up at the sight. Zulema smiling, openly like that, had always been a rarity in her life — she couldn’t help herself but stare.

_Waterloo, couldn’t escape it if I wanted too!_

The blonde breaks her gaze when she hears a choir of clicking sounds coming from the living room — light eyes blinking back inside to find the men starting to unlock their guns, gripping their hands tight around their riffles, pointing their muzzles out towards the front side of the house, an aim on each head.

Macarena briefly closes her eyes, taking a deep breath — feeling the pistols inside her grip shake. 

Time was shifting around her. 

The familiar calmness had started taking hold of her, making the music slow down, air getting colder. Her breathing changes to a controlled rhythm, heart rate dropping to a constant beat.

Opening her eyes once again, she bends her body over the balcony’s entrance, stretching her arms forward to aim her pistols right outside the window.

Hands no longer shaking.

_Waterloo! Finally facing my Waterloo!_

She fires.

For a minute, everything is quiet, the only sound resonating inside her being the constant drumming of her heartbeats.

Time slows down long enough that, for a moment, the blonde thinks she can actually see her bullets make a straight path, cutting through the space in front of her eyes, crossing the window — breaking it into a sparkling mist — before entering the night air and sinking straight into a guard’s chest.

Silence.

And then, all hell breaks loose.

The guard’s body doesn’t even touch the ground before his companions start spreading, hiding behind their cars — alternating between shooting at them and taking cover.

The whole room explodes in noise as the burst of bullets starts breaking everything around them.

Macarena rapidly shields herself against the balcony’s wall when she feels the scorching projectiles cut the air around her — way too close for her taste —giving the woman beside her a brief glance.

Zulema had a wild look upon her face, lips curled into a snarl, green eyes burning as she shoots mercilessly the men outside.

Fabio starts shouting something from the living room, an muted noise, too far for her to understand under the sound of the deafening music and firing rounds. Gary, apparently, understands the man loud and clear — changing his position with the man before start firing again.

Poking her face out again, she takes a look through the gap that once was a window. Her front yard looked like a battle field —broken glass covering the whole ground, glowing underneath the bright morning sun, a few bodies thrown over the floor beside the guard’s cars.

At least, three men were already down.

Five to go.

Suddenly, Macarena lets out a hiss when the right side of her face explodes with pain.

Pulling her body back into cover, she lifts a hand up to brush the knuckles of her fingers on her cheek.

It comes back red with blood.

A bullet had grazed her.

Hearing a growl, Macarena lifts her gaze up to the find the woman beside her giving the blood on her hand a nasty look. 

The brunette presses her riffle tighter against her chest before taking aim again — green eyes squinting a little as she centralizes the gun’s crosshair right at a guard’s head.

Firing once.

Another man drops dead on the floor.

Four to go.

Before the blonde can process the information she just saw, her attention is shifted to the laptop’s screen beside her feet when she catches a change through the corner of her eyes. The necklace was moving faster than she had thought, the red dot was actually much closer to the marked crossroad than she had anticipated. 

They needed to move.

Now.

“Zulema.” She shouts over the firing rounds surrounding them — the cut on her cheek being promptly ignored. 

The woman meets her gaze.

“What?” 

“The necklace is close. We need to go.” Macarena says, tilting her head back to signalize the brunette to cross over to her side. 

Zulema simply nods, understanding. Alert green eyes give the area outside the cottage a glance before crouching down, closing the distance between them with two hasty steps — straightening herself beside the blonde, mirroring her position and flushing her back against the exterior wall.

Breathing hard, Macarena starts to think. 

They needed to find a way to reach the van.

Bending her neck towards the living room, the blonde waits until Fabio stops shooting before she gives the man a shout.

He instantly turns his gaze to her — eyes falling on the cut on her cheek, the sight making his insides turn with worry. 

In a second, he had crossed the kitchen, throwing himself behind the couch along side Crístian.

“Macarena, are you alright? You’re bleeding, what happened?” 

“The necklace is close, Fabio” She says instead of answering his questions, ignoring his concerns. There was no time for that now. “We need to move. Help me reach the van.”

Fabio gives her a confused frown. 

“Macarena, I can’t go along with you right now. The area is too hot.” 

“I know. I will leave with Zulema.” 

“What?” He shouts, louder than any bullet in the room. “Are you insane, Macarena? I won’t let you leave alone with that woman.” 

The blonde takes a deep breath — the finger around her pistol’s trigger starting to itch. Her patience was growing thin. 

“I’ll help her.” 

Surprised, both her and Fabio turn a bewildered gaze to Crístian, who seemed as shocked with his own reaction as the two of them — his wide eyes staring the empty space somewhere to his left.

“Are you sure, Crístian?” Fabio asks him, giving him a worried look. The younger man wouldn’t be his first choice in helping Macarena with such matter, but anything was better than letting the blonde go alone with that psychopath. 

Crístian stays silent for a couple of seconds before giving his head a shake, turning a more confidant gaze to the man beside him.

“Yes, but just, take this.” He says, throwing the riffle into Fabio’s hands. Guns had never been his ideal approach to things — too boring. If there was one thing Crístian valued in his life, was the creative way of dealing with your own problems.

Getting on his knees, her crawls over Fabio and heads towards the far end of the make-shift barricade they were hiding against, wrapping his hands around the fallen Smirnoff bottle before turning to meet with the blonde outside the balcony.

Standing up straight beside the woman, he gives the both of them a charming smirk as he brushes his free hand through the fabric of his own shirt — cleaning any residual dirt that the crawling on the floor may had accumulated on his palm.

“Hello, ladies. Needing a hand?” 

“Yes. Several.” Zulema deadpans, not enjoying the babysitter Fabio had sent to watch over her.

“What are you gonna do with this, Crístian?” Macarena asks, pointing a pistol to the alcohol bottle the younger man was holding.

“Oh, this? Just a little trick I learned after being a bartender for two years. Special cocktail.” He says with a wink. 

Handing the Smirnoff for the brunette to hold, he promptly ignores the holes she carves on his skin as he rips a piece of his own shirt. Closing his hand on the glass once again, he unscrews the lid with his teeth before stuffing the fabric inside the bottle.

“Come with me, ladies.” He says, stepping out of the balcony and into the sand — circling around the house.

Macarena gives Zulema a look before following him. 

Crístian had his shoulder glued to the cottage’s wall, walking slowly through the small space between the house and the foliage surrounding it — the bushes were tall enough to hide them as they got closer to the cabin’s front yard.

Reaching the corner’s turning point, he flushes his back against the wall. Looking to the side to see if the two women had followed him.

Macarena was right behind him, mirroring his position. The blonde doesn’t need to see to know Zulema had done the same thing as her.

The man gives her a smirk, his eyes glowing with mirth as he stretches a finger forward. 

The van was right there.

“Do you have a lighter, my dear?” He asks Zulema, stretching his arm over the blonde to place his open palm right underneath the brunette’s nose.

Zulema eyes squint a little as she gives the younger man a prolonged inspection — mentally wondering if he had a death wish or was simply that oblivious. She lets out an annoyed sigh when she catches the blonde giving her a hard stare. 

Sucking the front of her teeth in frustration, she reaches inside her pocket to close her fingers around her lighter, placing it on the man’s waiting hand before giving Macarena an ironic smirk.

_Happy?_

Her face was asking her. 

The blonde gives her a pleased smile.

_Yes._

Hers answered.

“Thank you, foxy.” Crístian says, completely unaware of the silent discussion happening beside him. He pushes the hand holding the bottle away from his body, wrist twisting a little to make the fabric fall straight down. With a click, he sparkles the lighter on, bringing the lit flame underneath the cloth — setting it on fire.

Returning the lighter to the brunette, he gives the women beside him a smile.

“I can throw this right at them, I believe it will distract them long enough to let you guys enter the van and get out of here.” 

Macarena gives the man a smile as she feels her chest burning up inside her shirt, a wave of affection coursing through her heart.

Along the days they spent together inside the cottage, she had actually started to see him as something close to a brother. 

She will miss him, the blonde thinks, putting one pistol inside the waistband of her pants before lifting a hand to curl around his cheek.

Crístian folds his large hand on top of hers, matching her smile.

“I know you won’t come back, blondie.” He says, his voice bittersweet.

Macarena freezes, her stomach dropping — mind running on different hypothesis of _why_ exactly he would be telling her that. 

To her surprise, the man actually gives her an embarrassed grin before dropping their hands. 

“A few days ago? I kinda woke up in the middle of the night to grab some water, and accidentally stepped right into the vision of my dreams.” He says, his lips curling into a full smirk — his shame, clearly, not lasting more than a couple of seconds.

Macarena wants to sink into the floor.

_He knew._

“And you said nothing, Don Juan?” Zulema inquires, a brow lifted — not feeling half as bothered by the sudden revelation as the blonde beside her “Why?” 

“Because, it wasn’t really my business.” He shrugs. 

After his barely awake mind had fully processed what he was seeing — a memory he will never forget — he had simply turned around and headed back inside his room. 

Don’t get him wrong, he knew the blonde’s choice probably wasn’t painted by the whitest shades of morality — considering she apparently had been on a relationship with Fabio at the time — but, between the two of them, he preferred to stay on Macarena's side. 

“And — he resumes, a soft smile forming on his lips — I wouldn’t stand in the way of your happiness, blondie. Whatever that may be.” 

Macarena chooses to actively ignore the amused look Zulema sends her way, focussing her attention solely on Crístian’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Crístian. I know I promised you guys a lot with this heist—”

“Hey, don’t worry. I can always go back to bartending right?” He replies — brown eyes shifting to the lit bottle inside his hand. It was time to throw. “Alright ladies, mayhem hour.” 

Before he could move, Macarena wraps her arms around his neck — tight.

Crístian lets out a gasp, not expecting it, before wrapping his free arm around the blonde’s back, closing his eyes tight as he presses his face on her neck — trying his best to burn this moment on his memory. 

The woman had actually started to occupy a very special place inside his heart.

He will never forget her.

Macarena gives him a last squeeze before stepping back — making a mental note to try and send him some amount of money when things quiet down.

“Time to go, blondie.” He says, voice barely a whisper.

She gives him a watery smile before nodding. Taking the pistol from her waistband as she takes a step closer to Zulema.

The brunette gives her a smirk — barely a turn of corners — but enough to bring the blonde’s focus back to the matter at hand.

Crístian starts to countdown, forming the number three with his fingers.

Then a two.

Then a one.

And he throws. 

The bottle flies through the air and explodes on top of the closest car, spreading its burning liquid over the metal hood — the men around it part with a yelp, some of them having their clothes catch on fire.

Taking the opportunity, Macarena gives the woman beside her a look before start making their way towards the van. 

Zulema opens the driver’s door with a hasty pull, throwing her body inside the seat, fingers closing around the keys anxiously, giving it a twist to turn the engine alive. She waits until Macarena sits beside her before stomping her feet down on the gas, urging the van forward. 

Both of the bend their bodies forward as they start receiving a blast of bullets.

The brunette doesn’t spare them a single thought as she turns the wheel around and passes through the guards at high speed — forcing them to step out of the way as she heads towards the dirt road and away from the cottage.

Looking through the rearview mirror, Macarena lets out a sigh when she sees the guards hadn’t bothered to try and follow — most likely preferring to spare their force power on the target that was firing at them.

“Where to, rubia?” Zulema asks her.

“Straight ahead. I saw them taking the federal highway, like I suspected. We should meet up with them soon.” The blonde sighs, knocking her head back on the seat, allowing herself to simply sit back and breathe — trying to relax just for a couple of minutes. 

Soon, everything will be over, she thinks, feeling her eyes close. Her body had been running on low sleep for days now, and it was starting to take a tool on her.

“Rubia.” 

Macarena wakes up in a fright — she had not planned to actually fall asleep. Blinking once, twice, she fully opens her eyes to find the back of Emílio’s van right in front of them.

It was time.

Zulema starts placing her riffle against her shoulder once again, muzzle point outside the window — but Macarena stops her with a hand upon her arm.

“We will do this _your_ way.” The blonde says, lifting a finger to press a button on the front panel. The van’s ceiling starts opening above their heads — a small square, wide enough to let a body pass through. 

Wide enough for her.

Reaching behind her, Macarena starts roaming through the van’s back space, searching for the weapon she had asked Fabio to buy yesterday. He did say he had placed it somewhere through here.

She feels a smirk form on her lips when her fingers close around a large rectangular package. 

Tearing through the material, the piece she had ordered is revealed. 

Zulema feels her eyes bulge out of her head when she sees Macarena turning back into her seat with a fucking rocket launcher — a RGW 90, to be precise — inside her arms.

Macarena doesn’t spare her a single glance, balancing the weapon on her shoulder as she closes a hand over the ceiling’s edge to help and pull her to a standing position — passing the gun through the hole first, followed by her head and shoulders. 

Her hair is brushed back by the wind’s force as she places her elbows against the van’s hod — supporting the weapon against her shoulder. 

Closing one eye, Macarena starts taking aim of the truck in front of them. Holding her breath, she waits until the car is centered right in the middle of the rocket launcher’s crosshair before pulling the trigger.

The blonde feels the cut on her cheek sting as the rocket is launched, her shoulder being pushed back by it’s intensity. The projectile makes a burning trail through the space between them before hitting the van with an explosion.

Zulema abruptly steps on the brakes when she sees the vehicle in front of her actually make a flip in the air — the fire blazing into a huge grey and black smoke.

Macarena drops the empty launcher to the side before pulling herself back down.

The black van flips through the road in a violent pattern — crashing and rolling around like a little toy — hitting the ground hard once, twice, before dropping down on the grass beside the road. From her position, she could see the way the driver and passager’s seat were alight, heavy smoke coming from both sides.

She doubted any of the guards survived that.

Zulema brings the van to a full stop beside the flaming carcass, close enough for them to feel the searing heat on their skins.

Macarena watches the flames for a second before turning her gaze to the woman next to her. The brunette had a smirk upon her lips — eyes burning with an intensity pretty similar to the hell’s breath coming through the window.

Her heart skips a beat inside her chest when the woman shifts her gaze to meet with hers. 

Zulema looked different, she thinks, tilting her head to the side — light eyes blinking between honey ones, mentally trying to pick apart that particular shade.

There was a spark shinning behind her eyes.

Macarena feels her breath catch up in her throat when, at last, she understands what’s she’s seeing.

The last time the brunette’s eyes had flashed with that spark, she was being forced out of her prison cell by the chinas — heading straight towards the washing machines’ room.

A time — she remembers, with a heaviness settling inside her chest — Fátima hasn’t been killed yet.

The night they had burned Sole’s body, the blonde had noticed how Zulema’s eyes had turned into a more opaque shade than she had been used to. 

While they were sitting on the courtyard’s floor, huge bonfire in front of them, she had turned back to stare into the brunette’s eyes — the woman had given her a small smirk before lifting her face to watch the sky above them.

In that moment, she pondered about how the both of them were mourning two completely different things. Macarena, the death of the woman she started to see as a mother through her prison years, and Zulema, the death of her daughter.

Looking back now, she realizes the brunette had been burying two things that night — the child she had felt grow inside her stomach for nine months, and had been taken away from her by force. 

And a part of herself. 

The scorpion had died that night as well, at least in some way — and staring into her eyes now, Macarena realizes why the woman was looking so different.

Zulema was finally looking alive. 

For the first time in months. 

Noticing how long the blonde was staring at her, the brunette starts curling a smirk upon her lip. Zulema lets out a surprised laugh, briefly shaking her head as she gives her the warmest honey eyes yet.

Macarena wonders if her heart could beat any faster.

Oh.

How unfair it was.

It was completely immoral the way the woman in front of her could take her completely off guard like this — breaking through her barriers until there was nothing left. 

There had been a time, back in prison, the scorpion had promised to kill her. 

She wonders if that’s what she had been doing this entire time — killing her, but softly — piece by piece, until every inch of her had a mark cutting right through, leaving an incandescent scar behind.

What a wicked game it was, she thinks, falling for Zulema. 

Letting out a sigh, Macarena lifts a hand to fold it upon the woman’s cheek, feeling her whole chest warm up with the way the woman’s smile managed to get larger.

Suddenly, Zulema stretches her hands across the distance between them, cold slender fingers wrapping themselves around Macarena's hair before hastily pulling her forward, crashing their lips together.

Macarena reacts instantly, turning her head to kiss her deeper, letting her tongue run through Zulema’s mouth — heart slamming inside her chest — thinking that was the sweetest form of killing she had ever tasted.

After a couple of minutes, she breaks the kiss to lift her gaze back to the woman in front of her — Zulema catches her eyes with an amused smirk gracing her mouth.

“Let’s grab that _puta collar._ ”

Macarena matches her smirk, giving her lips one last kiss before closing her fingers around the van’s door and stepping outside — one pistol back to its original place inside her palm. 

Zulema grabs her riffle before doing the same.

The both of them contour the car, meeting each other in front of the van — shoulders brushing — to give the burning carcass in front of them a attentive once-over. 

They share a look before taking a step forward, closing the distance between them and the van’s back side — ears tuning in to the area inside of the vehicle, making sure of the guards’ fatal condition. 

Reaching the van, Zulema kicks the doors with her foot, practically forcing the metal hinges away, making the two carbonized pieces fall soundly on the floor — raising a cloud of small embers.

Squeezing her eyes to see through the smoke, Macarena finds the familiar silver looking suitcase thrown near the van’s back side. Wrapping a hand around Zulema’s arm for balance, the blonde stretches a feet forward, carefully pushing the suitcase away from the flames and closer to them. 

Considering it had just received a rocket right in its face, it was holding up a pretty nice shape, she thinks, crouching down to lift the lid open with the tip of her pistol.

And there it was.

The necklace. _Untouched._

Bending forward, Zulema closes a hand around its sparkling diamond cord — it wasn’t even warm — turning the jewel in her fingers to give it a proper glance. 

It was breathtaking.

Straightening herself back up, Macarena stretches a hand to turn the main diamond around, folding it on its back to reveal the spy-bug she had placed a few days ago — plucking it off with a fingernail, letting the wind blow the small piece of plastic away from them.

Letting out a relieved sigh, she meets Zulema’s gaze with a smirk.

They had done it.

“Where to now, Rambo?” The brunette laughs, honey eyes sending warm waves down the blonde’s chest.

Macarena gives her a smile, feeling the tension around her body fading with each breath.

“I know just the place to go.” 

— - —

Macarena stares at the trailer in front of her with a calmness settling inside her chest — not really believing that after everything, her plan had worked.

Stepping forward, she unlocks the trailer’s door with a turn of her wrist. 

Climbing up the few steps, she heads straight to her right, entering the driver’s cabin — bending over to reach underneath the main seat and close her hand around the gasoline gallon, retrieving it with a pull of her arm.

Heading back out, she pauses briefly when her eyes find something on top of the panel.

A cigarette packet.

Letting out a soft laugh at her luck, she takes it into her hands before stepping down the steps and meeting Zulema beside the black van.

Giving the woman a look, she holds the gallon between them — tilting her head to the side — asking the brunette with her eyes for her to set the vehicle on fire. 

They couldn’t leave a single trace behind.

Nodding, Zulema takes the gasoline and starts throwing the liquid on the van.

Taking a couple of steps back, Macarena reaches inside her back pocket to retrieve her phone, unlocking the screen with her thumb before clicking on a number.

A sigh escapes her lips as she raises the device to her ear.

One last act.

It rings once, twice, before the man picks up with an angry voice.

_“Where the fuck are you, Macarena?”_ Fabio screams at the through the phone, his harsh tone being muffled down by the precarious telephone reception. 

They were in the middle of nowhere, after all.

“We took the necklace.” Macarena answers him, instead.

She hears the man let out a prolonged sigh through the phone _“Thank god. Are you coming back?”_

“No.” 

_“What?”_

“I’m sorry, Fabio.” The blonde says, lying through her teeth. 

The only reason she was calling him was because he was the father of her child. After not telling him she was pregnant, she felt the need to at least warn him she was still alive.

Fabio stays quiet for a second, before his mind clicks — pieces of information that had not fitted before, finally blending together, shinning a new light to things.

_“You leaving with her? You chose her?”_ He shouts.

Macarena’s mind briefly flashes with the memory of a dream she had a couple nights ago — feeling a mild sense of deja vu course through her as she remembers the way his eyes were blazing inside his orbits, screaming at the top of his lungs words very similar to those he was shouting at her through the phone.

It was funny, how in reality, he sounded so much smaller — she could actually hear his despair resonate behind the anger. 

Pitiful.

Turning her gaze to the woman standing a few steps ahead, the blonde feels a smile curl on her lips when she sees that Zulema was actually whooping — raising her arms up, huge grin on her face as she watches the van burn in front of her.

She had chosen Zulema a long time ago, way before she had actually known it.

“Goodbye, Fabio.” She says, pressing the off button, not bothering to wait for a response. Pulling her arm back, she throws the cellphone into the flames.

Free, at last.

She watches the device melt underneath the excruciating heat with a lightness taking hold of her whole self — realizing, with a sudden thought, that the ever present headache she had been feeling hammering behind her eyes for the past couple of days was slowly subsiding, until the only pain she was experiencing was coming from the open cut on her cheek.

Zulema steps beside her with her hands inside her pockets, turning to watch the flames as well. 

Lifting her hand, Macarena offers the brunette the cigarette package she had found earlier — after all, pregnant woman can’t smoke. 

The woman beside her almost purrs as she closes her fingers around the gift — she had missed her second favorite addiction.

Placing a cigarette on her lips, she curves a hand in front of her face to lit it before taking a deep drag — the nicotine entering her lungs relaxing her instantly.

“So, is Fabiorito handled?” She exhales, giving the blonde an amused smirk, watching her through the corner of her eye.

Macarena snorts, before giving her a nod “Yes. Not the way you wanted, but, still.” 

Zulema hums, taking another drag. You can’t have everything.

A brief silence falls between them — comfortable — both women simply staring the burning flames as their minds recollects that day’s previous events. 

“I never thanked you for saving my life. That night.” Macarena says, at last, cutting through the quiet.

“Rubia—”

“No, let me. I don’t know what Emílio would have done to me if he had took me, Zulema. And now I know that you saved both me and my child.” She persists, looking at the brunette’s profile with an intensity glowing inside her eyes “I owe you now.”

Zulema actually lets out a snort, shaking her head, lips opening into a surprised smile. “You owe me nothing, rubia.” The brunette breathes, staring straight ahead.

“You gave me my freedom.” She says before finally meeting Macarena’s eyes

“I’m free.” Zulema had a smile on her lips — briefly closing her eyes to feel the wind course through her hair, taking a deep breath to let the salted air enter her lungs 

“I owe _you_. So, whatever it is that is growing inside you? — the brunette asks her, pointing two slender fingers towards the general direction of the blonde’s abdomen — We’ll handle it.”

Macarena feels her heart bust inside her chest.

Instead of opening her mouth, she simply gives the woman a warm smile — knowing that, if she said anything, she might reveal too much, too soon. 

So, instead, she chooses to tilt her head towards the trailer. “Let’s go?” 

Zulema throws the cigarette bud on the ground before giving her a smirk.

“ _Vamos._ ” 

— - — 

A couple of hours later, the night’s silence is cut by the abrupt sound of an amount of glass being crushed underneath an very expensive looking boot.

Emílio steps over the scene around him with a large cigar upon his lips — cold dead eyes analyzing his van’s smoking carbonized carcass.

He was surprised, he admits, it was the first time someone had managed to rob him right underneath his nose.

Taking a deep drag, he lets out an amused smile course through his lips. 

Bonnie turned out to be more fun than he had expected, he thinks, feeling his insides burn with pleasure. 

He had always loved a good chase.

And this was _just_ the beginning. 

_ To be Continued _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it, my dearests. The end of Waterloo.
> 
> Before I embarrass myself by getting too emotional, I would like to give a few notes to all of you.
> 
> First, this isn’t really goodbye. I am working on a sequel, and I have the most pleasure to tell all of you it will be called _Parabellum_. I am already working on it, and have already a few things in mind that I want to happen. It will be a story focussed on Macarena and Zulema dealing with each other, a pregnancy, and eventually, a baby. I will bring Saray back, and a few characters from Waterloo, just to give the story a splash of plot, ahahah
> 
> Also, to my Portuguese speakers, this fic will be uploaded on Wattpad, if you would like to experience it in our mother tongue. So, keep an eye out on my twitter, I will be posting news over there. 
> 
> And, all Parabellum news will also be posted on twitter. I will approach this story in a different way, I plan to work it all out before start updating, and at least, five chapters done before posting, so I don’t overwork myself the way I did with Waterloo — So, fell free to ask me anything on twitter, or tumblr, instagram, about how is the writing going, I never get annoyed when you guys do it. 
> 
> Alright, here comes the emotional.
> 
> I would like to thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for all the love and joy each one of you has given me by reading this fic, and commenting, and telling me how much you guys loved it. It truly meant a lot. 
> 
> I would like to send the warmest and tightest hug to each one of you, your presence has made my life much more happier, and I thank you all for that. I always believed the readers and writers maintained a connection through the story, and I felt that with all of you.
> 
> El Oasis has left a gaping hole in all of our hearts, and I hope this story has helped all of you the same way it has been helping me. Zulema Zahir didn’t die. Macarena Ferreiro didn’t abandoned her. They chose each other. Chose family, and happiness, and a life together.
> 
> In my heart, I know that’s true. In my heart, this story is true. And all of you helped me make all of this happen. 
> 
> I will see you all again soon. Never can keep away for too long.
> 
> Warms hugs, my dearests. 
> 
> Until next time!  
> <3


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